


Careful There

by defying3reason



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-03
Updated: 2014-11-22
Packaged: 2017-12-31 08:11:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 41,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1029353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/defying3reason/pseuds/defying3reason
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire has been self-destructively pining for Enjolras, and the self-destructive behavior amps up after he overhears Enjolras insisting to Combeferre that he has no feelings whatsoever for the cynic. In an attempt to cheer him up, Courfeyrac drags Grantaire out to an open mic, where he meets an alluring stranger...</p><p>And Enjolras is not jealous. Because he does not have feelings for Grantaire. Nope, not at all. He just doesn't trust that stranger. After all, his grasp on social politics is alarmingly ill-conceived.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, so I should most definitely be working on one of my unfinished fics, but I got a plot bunny and I decided to run with it while the inspiration was hot. So have yet another modern AU fic.
> 
> As usual, feedback would be much appreciated :)

Bahorel and Bossuet made their hazardous ascent of the worryingly creaky staircase to the top floor of Grantaire’s building. His illegal apartment was nestled between dips in the roof, meaning Bahorel had to bend over unless he could get to the dead center of the one-room studio. There was no fire escape, so if the building went up Grantaire was essentially fucked.

Of course, fiery peril was the least of his concerns at the moment as there appeared to be a very real possibility of the dissolute artist finally making good on a long standing threat of drinking himself to death. The friends found Grantaire sitting slumped over in front of the army surplus cot he used as a bed gulping from a bottle of vodka.

Bahorel, whose senses weren’t exactly delicately inclined to begin with, stuck his t-shirt over his nose when he hunched his way into the apartment. “Dude. When was the last time you took out the trash? Or put on deodorant, for that matter.”

Grantaire eyed him blearily, then took a long chug from his bottle.

Sighing, Bossuet knelt down next to him and began the struggle to pry the bottle from his grip. They spilled a fair amount over their fingers before Bossuet finally managed to get it away from him. Bossuet immediately passed it off to Bahorel, and he emptied it down Grantaire’s sink.

“Hey! Tha’s fucking rude. Not yours.”

“Grantaire, this is bad, even for you. No one’s seen you for three days. Have you really been sitting in your own filth getting shit faced for three fucking days?” Bahorel asked. “We’re worried about you, man.”

“M’fine.”

Bossuet frowned. “When was the last time you ate? You can’t subsist off the calories in booze alone, my friend.”

“I ate…leave me alone.”

“Sorry, we’re under orders.” Bahorel cracked his knuckles threateningly.

Grantaire looked like he wanted to put up a fight, but ultimately he was too tired to bother. He let out a world weary sigh and submitted when his friends each got a hand under one of his elbows and hauled him to his unsteady feet. Bahorel had to half-carry him down the stairs, but with some help from Bossuet he managed to get Grantaire shoved into the backseat of his jeep.

Thankfully, they didn’t take him to Joly’s for his detoxing or intervention or whatever the fuck they had planned. Grantaire really didn’t want to deal with the hypochondriac med-student when he was crusting in his own filth. They brought him to Courfeyrac’s place, and once he stopped to think about it, Grantaire found that that made a lot of sense. Who else’s orders could Bahorel be referring to? The list of people Bahorel listened to was small, and of that list, there was only one person who noticed when Grantaire fell apart.

The group’s center smiled cheerfully when he let them into his apartment. He wrapped a bracing arm around Grantaire’s back, relieving Bahorel of the dead weight, and ushered him to the bathroom. Grantaire let out an incoherent groan that was supposed to be a protest, but Courfeyrac deposited him into the bottom of the bathtub anyway. “Sorry, but you’re not recovering in my bed until you’ve cleaned yourself off. You smell worse than that funky toilet stall in the Corinthe, and we both know that’s saying something.”

“Fuck off.”

“You should really strip. It’ll make the shower a lot more pleasant.”

“I said fuck off!”

“Right.” Courfeyrac turned on the water, and Grantaire let out a loud yelp.

“I’m fucking wearing my-turn it off! You’re an asshole!”

“Make sure you wash your hair!” Courfeyrac blew him a kiss, then shut the shower curtain and left the room.

As he was already soaked through, Grantaire adjusted the water temperature and peeled off the sweat thin t-shirt he’d put on three days ago and the ripped sweat pants he honestly couldn’t remember changing into.

He wasn’t planning on admitting it, but he actually did feel much better after his shower. Sometime when he’d been scrubbing stink and crusted vomit from his skin Courfeyrac must have snuck in with a change of clean clothes and a fluffy bathrobe. Grantaire ignored the bathrobe, but he put on the borrowed clothes and ventured into the living room.

His friends were eating homemade fried rice and veggies. Grantaire’s stomach started rumbling in response to the delicious smell. He sat down on the floor by the coffee table and eagerly dug into his plate. No one bothered him while he ate, or even after he finished. Bossuet and Courfeyrac were chatting about one of the legal studies classes they had in common, which wasn’t exactly a thrilling subject for the world weary drunk. His eyelids started feeling heavy, and before he knew it Bahorel was half-carrying him again.

He was asleep before his head touched the pillow.

* * *

It was dark out when Grantaire woke up. He still pulled a pillow over his head and rolled aside, because he’d felt the mattress dip, hell he assumed that was what had woken him up, and he had no intention of having a conversation about his damn feelings.

Courfeyrac, not one to be deterred, plucked the pillow away from him and poked him until he sat up. “Here.” At least he’d brought water and painkillers with him.

Grantaire swallowed the tablets and drained the glass of water, all the while glaring at his friend, hoping Courfeyrac would let him leave after a brief assurance that he wouldn’t try to drink himself to death again…that month.

Courfeyrac set the glass on the end table and shifted posture, getting more comfortable.

Damn.

“Bahorel and Bossuet took off. You’ve been asleep for about six hours.”

“Ah.” Grantaire started fidgeting with his fingers, curling and uncurling the hem of his borrowed t-shirt.

“So Grantaire, it’s just you and me-”

“I don’t want to talk.”

“That’s a rarity. I still think you should. At least tell me what he said to you, so I can deconstruct it for you. I do speak Enjolras, you know. I’ve been friends with him longer than you.”

Grantaire flinched at the mention of his unrequited love’s name, and the speed with which he curled and uncurled the hem of the shirt increased.

“Whatever it was, ‘Taire, he probably didn’t mean what you think he meant. You know how he is. He doesn’t really get feelings, and everything he says sounds about a million times harsher than he intends it to. Plus he doesn’t even know you’re upset. I asked him what you two fought about, and he had no idea you’d fought, so whatever it was is mostly in your head. Okay? So talk to me and let me help.”

“You can’t.”

Courfeyrac let out a small ‘hmph.’ He was obviously taking that as a challenge. “At least let me try, if only so you can prove me wrong and do an ‘I told you so’ dance. I know how much you love those.”

Grantaire scowled and pinched the bridge of his nose. “We didn’t fight. That’s why he doesn’t know what happened.”

“Oh. Well what-”

“I fucking overheard him when he was talking about me to Combeferre, okay? I heard from the golden god’s own lips how less than interested in me he is. I’ve never had a chance and I never will because I wouldn’t fucking deserve him even if he were, for some unfathomable reason, interested in slumming it with me. He’s too good for me and he always will be, and he knows that so I’m just fucking giving up.”

“Shit.” Courfeyrac pulled him into a one-armed embrace, and against his deeply ingrained instincts when it came to accepting comfort, Grantaire leaned into the hug and even let Courfeyrac soothingly run a hand down his back. “When you say give up…do you mean on this crush or…uh, something I don’t really want to say?”

Grantaire wiped at his eyes. “I’m not going to kill myself because Enjolras doesn’t love me back. I never really expected him to, obviously. But hearing that I don’t have a shot hurt a lot more than I expected it to. I’m having a tough time dealing with it. It was…I mean, I was able to make myself feel better and delude myself every now and then, but now I can’t. The illusion’s entirely gone. He doesn’t like me and he never fucking will.”

“You don’t know that.”

Grantaire let out an incredulous snort. “I’m not exactly giving him tons of reasons to change his opinion. I’m a mess. A train wreck. And he’s _everything_. Shit, he even makes me hope things could get better someday and that’s not who I am. I’m not supposed to have that good stuff in me.”

It took a good half an hour for Grantaire to convince Courfeyrac he wasn’t suicidal, and even then, he wasn’t sure he’d so much convinced Courfeyrac as Courfeyrac had just let him switch the subject. Courfeyrac’s next course of action was to pressure Grantaire into going out and being social. He kept insisting that Grantaire needed to get his mind off of Enjolras.

Grantaire objected as strongly as he was able to, but ultimately Courfeyrac possessed a greater will than he did, and besides that, Grantaire was too tired and too worn down to put up much of a fight. He didn’t even resist when Courfeyrac insisted on dressing him up for their bar crawl (or, at least, Grantaire hoped they were going out for a bar crawl, but you never knew with Courfeyrac).

After changing into yet another borrowed outfit and having his hair tugged this way and that with a damned uncomfortable wire brush, Grantaire was forced to stand in front of Courfeyrac’s full length mirror so that he could admire his friend’s handiwork. Grantaire was slouching and scowling, which probably didn’t help the effect, but he sincerely doubted any posture he could take would help his appearance.

“I look like a fucking hipster twat.”

Courfeyrac’s face fell. “You look fine. Those are my favorite jeans, and they fit you better than me. Come on, ‘Taire. You’d instantly get at least twice as attractive if you just had a little confidence. Stand up straight.”

“Standing up straight isn’t going to fix acne scars and crooked teeth, jack ass. Or rat’s nest greasy hair. Or my fucked up nose.”

“You’re not ugly, ‘Taire.”

“Fuck you. I’m perfectly capable of looking in a mirror and discerning how unnaturally hideous I am.” Enjolras wasn’t shallow enough to be put off by his ugliness, but Grantaire was pretty sure it hadn’t helped him out any. With that cheerful thought, his scowl deepened.

Courfeyrac cuffed him over the back of the head and Grantaire let out a startled yelp. “Hey! Aren’t you supposed to be trying to make me feel better?”

“I’m doing my damndest, but you’re being a twit. Now quit slouching and drop the glare for half a second. C’mon ‘Taire, humor me.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes, but he improved his posture and tried for a neutral expression. He didn’t think it helped any, but Courfeyrac smiled at him in triumph. “See? You’re not a bad looking guy, Grantaire. You just need a little confidence. So when we get to the café, try to smile from time to time.”

“I’m really not interested in trying to pick up guys with you.”

“I didn’t think you were. We’re just going to have a good time and get you out of your head a little. But hey, you might have a happy accident. You never know.”

Grantaire grumbled about how he had a pretty good idea as Courfeyrac prodded him out of the apartment. Grantaire was sitting in the passenger side of Courfeyrac’s car before he realized he had no idea where they were going.

“You’re not taking me to the Musain, are you?” He’d mentioned a café, and Grantiare was most definitely not interested in going to one of Enjolras’ hang-outs. The knowledge that Enjolras didn’t realize he’d been overheard wasn’t comforting enough for him to be ready to bump into the guy just yet.

Courfeyrac sighed. “Jehan’s doing a poetry reading and I promised him I’d go.”

“Let me out of the car.”

“’Taire-”

“Courfeyrac, if you don’t want me to kill myself then you will _not_ put me in the same room as Enjolras right now. I need more time. Now pull over and let me out of the fucking car.”

“He’s not going to be there,” Courfeyrac snapped. “He’s working on a paper. Jehan was really hurt when he found out Enjolras wasn’t going, and Feuilly’s skipping because he’s working a double, and no one saw you for three days so he figured you’d be ditching too, and that’s too many people skipping his feature. I promised I would go and support him, and if you still want to be counted as one of my friends you will not be making me miss it. I have no intention of making Jehan cry, but I’m also not going to leave you by yourself right now so I can spend the rest of the night worrying about you. Suck it up. You’re coming.”

Grantaire scowled and slumped against the seat, facing away from Courfeyrac. He really couldn’t argue against the prospect of a crying Jehan, especially if Enjolras wasn’t even going to be there.

* * *

Grantaire slunk into the café behind Courfeyrac and almost crept right back out again.

Courfeyrac had lied to him; Enjolras was sitting at a table near the front with Combeferre and Bahorel. He looked as breathtakingly beautiful as ever, perfect lips quirked in the barest of smiles as he listened to something Bahorel was saying, golden hair falling in gentle waves around his almost femininely beautiful face. Grantaire ached just looking at him.

Then their eyes locked. Enjolras smiled at him, and was visibly startled when Grantaire didn’t return it. He must have looked as close to fleeing as he was. The only reason he didn’t bolt was because Jehan came up behind him and pulled him into a hug.

“Grantaire, hi! I didn’t expect to see you. I’m so glad you came. I really wanted to get your feedback on one of my poems. I mean, you’re an artist too, so your perspective would be really valuable for me.”

Grantaire felt his face heat up. “I’m not an artist, kid. I used to dabble a little before I realized I didn’t have any talent. That’s not…not even close to what you do.”

Jehan let go of him, brow wrinkling with concern. “Personally, I really liked your dabbling and I was heartbroken when you switched majors. But that’s a disagreement for another day. The point is, I’m glad you’re here.”

Grantaire felt obligated to stay after that. He tried to take a seat as far from Enjolras as he could, but Bahorel ruined that by calling out to him and Courfeyrac and pulling out chairs for them. Grantaire steeled himself with a deep breath and sat down.

Really, he’d need to do this eventually. They had too many friends in common for Grantaire to avoid Enjolras for very long.

But the guy didn’t even _know_.

Enjolras tried smiling at him again, and Grantaire immediately looked away. He sounded unsure of himself when he spoke, which was just wrong coming from Enjolras. “We missed you on Thursday. We were talking about the Sochi games and I was looking forward to your diatribe mocking my views for that one. I’m rather curious how you’re going to turn my violent dislike of Putin and his anti-gay laws into the subject of ridicule.”

It was probably meant as gentle teasing, but Grantaire wasn’t in a state to hear it. He flinched at what sounded like a reprimand and curled in on himself. Courfeyrac started loudly talking about Jehan’s chap book, and that topic dominated conversation until the open mic started.

Even though he was apparently expected to give Jehan a critique afterwards, Grantaire wasn’t able to follow much of what was said. He was hyper-aware of Enjolras sitting next to him, even more so than he usually was. Even the slightest movement drew his attention, and every innocent little gesture or shift in posture made Grantaire want to run for the door.

After Jehan’s feature, the host announced a ten minute break before the last readers were going to be called up to the mic. Enjolras turned towards Grantaire, but before he could say whatever he was going to say Grantaire croaked something about needing a cigarette and fled the café.

He raced out to the parking lot without stopping to think about the fact that he was wearing Courfeyrac’s clothes, and Courfeyrac most certainly did not smoke and therefore didn’t have a pack of cigarettes or a lighter in his sweatshirt pocket. Grantaire kept walking with his head down, not sure what to do but desperately wishing he did have a cigarette even though that had simply been a pretense to get away from Enjolras.

Then he walked into a stranger hard enough to fall on his ass and land on the wet pavement of the parking lot.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” the guy said. He offered Grantaire his hand. Grantaire was too disoriented to immediately take it, thoughts still back in the café with the love of his life, but that didn’t discourage the stranger any. He grasped Grantaire’s arm and yanked him to his feet, then started patting slush off of his jeans. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, m’fine,” Grantaire mumbled, purely out of habit as he was most certainly not fine. That had nothing to do with the fall though. “I’m the one who walked into you. S-sorry.”

“That’s okay. I wasn’t looking where I was going either. So I didn’t, like, give you a concussion or anything?”

Grantaire snorted. “Nope. I’m good.” He finally looked up and realized the guy he was talking to was almost as pretty as Enjolras. He had a similarly slender build and fine boned features, though his overall appearance gave a different effect. Enjolras manifested fiery conviction, while this stranger carried an edge of something a bit harder, a bit more mocking. Something in the lift of his thin honey-brown brow or the hardness in his green eyes…

At any rate, he struck Grantaire as someone he wanted to get to know better, and not just because the stranger was also a wavy haired blond (his hair was bleached though-even in the dim light of a streetlamp Grantaire could make out his dark roots).

“God damn, but your eyes are amazing,” the guy breathed. “Okay, I am really sorry I knocked you over. My name’s Wes. Can I get you a coffee or something to make up for it?”

Grantaire frowned at him, confused. “Um…sure. Are you, like, hitting on me?”

“Are you gay?”

“Yeah.”

Wes grinned. “Then yes, beautiful, I am most certainly hitting on you.”

“I’m not beautiful,” Grantaire said, not pausing to think. No one had ever called him that before and it struck him as ugly in its insincerity.

For some reason, Wes laughed. “We’ll agree to disagree for now. C’mon, let me get you a coffee. I’m reading some of my stuff a little after the break, but I’m sure I can bring you around to my point of view before I get up to the mic. I can be very convincing when I want to be.”

Wes wrapped a possessive arm around Grantaire’s waist and started steering him back towards the café. Still not quite sure what was happening, Grantaire allowed himself to be lead inside. “I can put up some pretty good arguments too.”

“I’m sure you can, and I promise to hang onto your every word.” Wes was still grinning. He put on a more subdued smile when they got to the counter and he had to address the barista. “Hey. Can I get a large coffee, black? What do you want, blue eyes? It’s on me.”

“Uh…small black?”

“Make it two larges, hon. The cups are pretty small here.” Wes paid for the coffees and left a dollar in the tip jar. They got their drinks and went to a table in the back, where a battered guitar case was propped against the wall. The case was covered in propaganda bumper stickers, giving Grantaire the impression that this kid was just as radically left as all of his friends.

“I didn’t get your name. I mean, unless you want me to keep calling you beautiful. Or eyes. I could definitely get used to calling you eyes.”

Grantaire’s face suddenly felt uncomfortably warm. He dropped his gaze to the death grip he had on his coffee cup. “My name’s Grantaire, and persuasive though you may be, you’re not going to convince me I’m good looking.”

“Yeah, I’m kinda getting that vibe. You’re a little damaged, aren’t you bright eyes? It’s okay. I’m pretty fucked up myself. But I’m sure you’ve got redeeming traits too. I wouldn’t mind getting to know you a little better, and seeing if I can find them. What do you like to do, Grantaire?”

Grantaire shrugged. “Get shit faced. Heckle idealists. Piss people off. What about you?”

Wes laughed. Grantaire figured there was a chance the guy thought he was kidding. “The same, actually. I can’t stand most of the regulars who come to this place. They’re too soft on their ideals. They talk a pretty sounding game, but you know that at the end of the day none of these twits are actually going to accomplish anything. They’re going to graduate, scramble for jobs, and mutate into boring yuppies and feed into the system they profess to hate now that they’re young and not committed to anything. I like heckling the hypocrites too. So that pisses people off. And I do count whiskey as a hobby.”

Grantaire eyed him skeptically. “I really haven’t scared you off?”

Wes leaned a little closer to him. “Nope.”

“But you actually are beautiful.”

“Thanks. I’m also very gay, and I find you alluring.” He waggled his eyebrows. “I like to top though, so if bottoming isn’t you cup of tea then this isn’t going to work out, entrancing eyes or no. Excuse me, beautiful, they just called me up for my reading.”

Wes pushed away from the table and sauntered up to the microphone, where he proceeded to read a speech instead of a poem or short story.

In some ways it reminded Grantaire of something Enjolras would say. Wes talked about fighting back against the corrupted system, identifying the same corrupted features Enjolras harped on; a broken education system, rampant, unchecked capitalism, the military industrial complex, that sort of thing. But his proposed solutions…

Well, no one would ever accuse this kid of being in danger of turning into a placated yuppie. He leaned more towards anarchy than the socialism Grantaire’s friends usually preached, with a flavor of that old-time anarchist violence that had terrified the masses at the turn of the century.

The room didn’t seem to know how to respond when Wes finished his reading. He didn’t much seem to care. He finished by flipping everyone off, then sauntered back over to his table, attention returned solely to Grantaire. “So bright eyes, you coming home with me tonight or what?”

“You sound like you’re out of your mind. You’re aware of that, aren’t you?”

“Mm hm. That a problem?”

Grantaire frowned. “Actually…no. But um…I…I’m not really…”

“Used to people being this forward, right?” Wes sighed, and leaned back a little, giving Grantaire some breathing room. “Damn. You were being pretty blunt, so I figured I could drop the bullshit and just get to the point too, but I pushed it too far, didn’t I? Look, I’m capable of having tact when I need it, there’s just something about you that made me get too comfortable too fast. We don’t have to fuck or anything, but if you want to hang out after the reading I am actually very intrigued by you as a person and not just a gorgeous piece of ass in improbable skinny jeans.”

Grantaire started fidgeting again, this time with the handle of his coffee mug. “I was going to say that I’m probably too hung up on another guy to be worth pursuing. I’m pretty fucked up, Wes. It’s only decent to give you fair warning so you can flee.”

“Aw, that’s precious. Well thanks for the warning, sweetheart, but considering you’re a decent enough guy to give it to me, that means you’re a decent enough guy for me to still be highly interested. Can I at least give you my number? No, scratch that. I’m not leaving without your number, because if I just give you mine you’ll manage to talk yourself out of ever calling me.”

Grantaire laughed. “We just met, and already you know me so well.”

“Eh, fucked up people know how to read each other.”

Grantaire and Wes spent the remaining two hours the Musain was open sitting in the back of the café talking exclusively to each other. After the first hour, Grantaire finally started to loosen up a little. He stopped frowning and slouching, and his gaze stopped obsessively shooting to Enjolras every five minutes or so.

By the second hour he was returning eye contact, leaning towards Wes, and tentatively trying to flirt with him. When he rested his hand on the tabletop, Wes twined their fingers together and Grantaire let him.

His disappearance hadn’t gone unnoticed by his friends, nor had his reappearance with the crazy eyed radical. Jehan pointed it out once the last amateur poet had gone up and polite conversation was once more welcome in the café.

Enjolras turned in his seat to see who Jehan was talking about, recognized Wes from his reading, and scowled. “Oh great. Grantaire _would_ find the idiot who thinks we should flip over police cars and set fire to public buildings. Because fuck capitalism, obviously.”

Combeferre snorted. “I don’t think that’s what he actually believes, Enjolras. He was probably just saying it that way to get attention.” Despite what he said, Combeferre still looked a bit unsettled by Grantaire’s choice in company, and the next thing he said seemed as much for his own reassurance as Enjolras’. “It’s probably a good thing that Grantaire’s trying to expand his circle a little more. It’s good to see him putting himself out there.”

“I’ve never seen him try to flirt before. Do you think he’s got moves?” Bahorel asked. “Scratch that, I’ve never seen him flirt _well_ before. The kid’s got terrible moves. Crazy-eyed blond doesn’t seem to mind though. Well, Grantaire’s definitely got a type.”

The others laughed at this, each of them shooting a look at Enjolras, who had no idea they were laughing in reference to him. He shot one more look back towards Grantaire and the strange activist, then went back to discussing Jehan’s poetry.

Grantaire left the café with Wes without saying goodbye to any of his friends. Courfeyrac and Bahorel expressed annoyance at this, while Jehan and Combeferre defended Grantaire, trying to be happy that the morose cynic had finally met someone, though really they had just as many misgivings about the someone he’d met as their other friends.

Enjolras tried to tell himself that he wasn’t hurt by Grantaire’s thoughtlessness. Just because the guy hadn’t given him a proper greeting, had looked positively ill when he’d seen Enjolras to begin with, and hadn’t responded to any of his attempts at conversation…Enjolras’ feelings weren’t hurt because they had no reason to be hurt. Grantaire was always an inconsiderate jack ass, especially where Enjolras was concerned.

And to think, he’d sabotaged his GPA by going out for the stupid poetry reading when he should have been working on a take-home final, just on the off chance he’d see Grantaire after a three day absence.

Well he’d seen him. He didn’t feel any better for it, but he’d definitely seen him.

When Enjolras got back to his and Combeferre’s apartment he immediately shut himself in his room and flopped onto his bed. He tried not to think of what Grantaire and the idiot activist might be doing that very moment, because he really needed to get back to work on his take-home. He was going to be up all night working on it as is.

Combeferre walked into the room and sat down on the end of the bed. “Are you okay?”

“Mm hm.”

“Enjolras, this is why I was telling you you needed to talk to him. You had to know he wasn’t going to be single forever. Eventually someone else was bound to approach him.”

Enjolras kept his gaze trained stubbornly on the ceiling. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“So you’re not jealous?”

Enjolras shook his head. “I’m happy for Grantaire. I may not look it just now, but that’s just because I’m stressed over school work. I promise you, I’m sincerely happy he met someone. I hope it works out.”

Combeferre let out a deep sigh. “Your denial isn’t convincing anyone, you know. You’re not even convincing yourself anymore. Why the hell are you so afraid of how much you like Grantaire anyway?”

“I’m not afraid.” Terrified was a much better term for it. “And you have no idea what you’re talking about.” He didn’t ‘like’ Grantaire. That term was far too juvenile for the terrifying swell of emotion that threatened to consume him at any moment if he let his guard down.

He was desperately in love with Grantaire, and it scared the shit out of him. He couldn’t afford the distraction, so he was trying to talk himself out of his feelings. He was a convincing speaker. More than once, he’d almost talked Combeferre into believing him when he said he wasn’t in love.

But ultimately his best friend knew him too well for that. Combeferre gave him one last pitying gaze, then reminded him that his door was always open if he needed to talk, and left him to work on his final.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras can't tell if he's jealous or legitimately concerned about this new kid...
> 
> Grantaire and Wes have their first date. Kind of.

Going back to Wes’ apartment with him was probably a bad idea. Wes insisted he just wanted to talk, maybe have a drink or two, but then he also shoved his hand into the back pocket of Grantaire’s (well, technically Courfeyrac’s) jeans while they were walking to his place.

Even though he was pretty handsy, Wes initially kept to his word. They sat on the futon in his living room, drank a few beers, and talked until it was light out. Something about Wes’ demeanor just made Grantaire open up. They started talking about random ass shit; pop culture and politics and their friends and their classes (Wes went to the community college on the other end of town and was going to transfer to the four year Grantaire and his friends attended once he’d gotten some core classes out of the way), but eventually Grantaire was lulled into talking about things with a little more depth. He told Wes shit he hadn’t even told his friends.

“Argh, we haven’t even been on a date yet and I’m already spilling about my fucked up childhood. That’s fucking awful, I’m sorry.”

Wes grabbed Grantaire’s hand and started rubbing his thumb over Grantaire’s palm. “If it makes you feel any better, my upbringing was less than spectacular too. I had a shitty stepmom who hated me for being the first chick’s kid. She had her own kids with my dad and used to flaunt how much love and attention they were getting, like she was challenging me to ask why I wasn’t getting new clothes and birthday parties and all that shit. She out and out kicked me out when I was sixteen.”

“Seriously? Did your dad try to stop her?”

Wes shrugged. “Dunno, but I didn’t exactly want to stay. I couch hopped and slept on park benches until I found some friends who could take me in. I think I’m doing pretty good, considering, but it’s been a fucking bitch and a half crawling my way up from being homeless. I think the actual experience of it is what’s missing in your friends’ pretty speeches when they talk about social issues. Y’know, they think poverty is bad and all that jazz, but none of those guys have ever been too poor for meals. They’ve never gone a night without a roof over their head. They’re too privileged to accomplish anything.”

Grantaire frowned. Much as he loved his friends, he did think they let their idealism run away with them, and that in the grand scheme of things they were pretty much wasting their time. However, to doubt the sincerity of their efforts just because they were, for the most part, economically privileged…

“I don’t think they’re going to accomplish jack shit, but apparently for different reasons than you,” Grantaire said, hoping to keep the tone light.

Wes pushed some of his messy bleached blond hair out of his eyes, looking self-conscious. “Sorry. I don’t mean to dump on your friends. I’m still a little shocked you are friends with them though. You don’t seem like the banner waving protest organizing type of guy.”

“I’m not, really…but they’re cool guys. There’s more to them than just politics.”

“I guess. The uptight blond kid’s pretty easy on the eyes, huh?” Wes had his eyes trained on Grantaire, blatantly gauging his reaction. He wasn’t sure what to say in response, and after a few false starts Wes let out an uncomfortable laugh. “So when you said you were hung up on a guy…it was totally him, huh?”

Grantaire stiffly nodded. “Yeah. I’ve liked him for…kind of a while now.” In that he was starting to forget what it felt like not to suffer under the weight of his feelings for Enjolras.

Wes’ expression turned thoughtful, which on him had a glint of challenge to it. “How has he not responded to you then? I mean have you tried asking him out?”

Grantaire shook his head. “Of course not. But he knows. If he wanted to, he’d have…shit. Wes, can we talk about something else? This is a weird subject, considering…”

“Considering what?” Wes set his beer on the coffee table and scooched a little closer to Grantaire. “Considering how clear I’ve made my intentions? Look, you said you were hung up on the guy. I just wanted to know if there was any chance of the dumb blond coming to his senses and snatching you away from me. If he’s not interested in you, then I’ll thank my lucky stars and proceed with the seduction. He may have his head too far up his own ass to realize what he’s missing, but I see you clear as day, blue eyes. I’ll help you get over him.”

Grantaire shook his head. He didn’t even want to get over Enjolras, really, he just knew that he should. His passion for the fiery activist was slowly destroying him. If he wanted any kind of chance at being healthy and whole, he needed to accept that he and Enjolras were only ever going to be friends.

Jumping on the first guy who showed interest in him, especially considering he kind of looked like Enjolras and was just as stupidly involved in social politics, probably wasn’t the best idea in the world.

“This is a shit idea,” Grantaire whispered. Wes was very much in his personal space, and apparently unperturbed by Grantaire’s continued pessimism. He stroked Grantaire’s jaw, then angled his face so they were looking at each other eye to eye.

He looked oddly predatory.

“I’m strong enough to handle your damage, Grantaire, and I think you’ll understand mine. I’ll appreciate you. I think dating you’s the best idea I’ve ever had. Will you let me take you out tomorrow night?”

“I…” Before he could form a coherent response, Wes was kissing him. Grantaire put his hands on Wes’ shoulders, intending to push him away, but somehow he wound up on Wes’ lap with the guy’s hands clamped around his waist. And then his own hands moved to Wes’ long, too-pale hair.

Oh fuck, but he could kiss. This was always how he imagined it would be with Enjolras, so passionate and fierce, and leaving him gasping for air.

He staggered out of the apartment after sunrise, still feeling lightheaded from the make out session. More than a few early morning commuters stared at him as he passed by. When he noticed the fourth person turn around to get a second look at him, Grantaire was finally curious enough to examine his appearance in the reflection of a shop window.

His hair was sticking up in several places, his clothing was wrinkled, and he had the most massive hickey he’d ever seen covering nearly half of his throat. “Huh.” Of course he’d felt Wes leaving it, but it hadn’t occurred to him how large and noticeable the thing was going to be.

He was pretty sure he didn’t own a single shirt that could possibly cover it in full. Bahorel was going to give him so much shit. All the shit, really.

Shrugging it off, Grantaire continued home with a slight, giddy smile on his lips. Somehow the prospect of being ridiculed by his friends didn’t bother him the same way it usually did.

* * *

Combeferre probably could have timed it if he wanted to. Almost immediately after Grantaire walked into the Musain, Enjolras’ eyes stopped moving across the page of the book he was supposed to be reading. By the time Grantaire ordered his drink from the barista, Enjolras gave up on reading the book entirely, but still wanting to present the façade of a student involved in his homework, he switched tasks to reviewing notes. It was easier to pretend he was focused on those instead of his friend.

When Grantaire sat down across from them with his coffee, Enjolras was still pretending to read his notes and kept his eyes averted. He offered the kid a terse nod and stiffly turned a page in his notebook. Combeferre would have rolled his eyes at his friend’s behavior, but then he noticed the massive bruise on Grantaire’s neck.

“What the hell is that?” Combeferre’s startled yelp caught the attention of every member of their group present (other than him and Enjolras, Feuilly, Bossuet, and Jehan were doing their homework or just relaxing at the Musain). Combeferre was usually the calmest and most reserved of their number, so the uncharacteristic exclamation caught everyone’s notice.

Grantaire’s pale skin flushed a brilliant shade of magenta. He uselessly tried to tug the collar of his sweat-thin t-shirt up higher, but it determinedly slouched down below the level of his collar bone once more. “What’s it look like?” he asked sheepishly.

“It looks like you’ve been attacked. What is it? Some kind of allergic reaction to a bug bite? Someone didn’t actually try to strangle you, did they?” Enjolras asked, looking genuinely alarmed. Bossuet let out a laugh that was almost a cackle, while Feuilly dropped his face into his hands.

“It’s a hickey,” Feuilly said, once it was clear that Enjolras actually did need the explanation.

“But I’ve seen those,” Enjolras insisted. “Courfeyrac and Bahorel have them sometimes and they are not that violent looking.”

“No, they’re not,” Combeferre agreed, brow creased with worry. “I suppose their skin isn’t as sensitive as Grantaire’s though…”

Grantaire awkwardly tapped his palms against his knees. “Wow. So the possibility of anyone wanting to make out with me is so remote to you guys that you can’t even recognize a god damned hickey when you see one?”

“It looks like you got attacked by a vacuum cleaner dude,” Bossuet managed around his giggles.

Enjolras’ expression was difficult to read, but it definitely wasn’t pleased. Combeferre thought he saw traces of worry and anxiety, but to anyone who didn’t know Enjolras as intimately as he did, they would probably only pick up on judgment, and at worst, disgust.

Needless to say, Grantaire turned defensive. He remained slouched down in his chair and was verbally combative for the twenty minutes he stayed with his friends. Then he got a text message and he instantly brightened. “See you assholes later.”

“You just got here,” Enjolras said. “Where are you going?”

“Wes is waiting for me outside. We’re getting dinner.”

“Oh. Well, try not to let him maul your neck this time.” Enjolras probably meant it as a joke, but he sounded far too strained when he said it for the attempt at humor to quite work, and the smile he wore made him look sick to his stomach. Accordingly, Grantaire reacted as though he’d been slapped.

“What he wants to do to my neck is none of your damn business, you self-righteous prick.”

“Grantaire…” Combeferre threw him a severe look. “You both need to calm down.”

“I’m perfectly calm,” Enjolras snapped, far too heatedly to be at all convincing.

“Of course the marble statue is the picture of icy cool as he renders his judgment on us inferior mortals, wasting our time by giving in to our baser urges,” Grantaire said with a sneer. “Sorry for not martyring all of my free time to your pointless little causes and doing something that makes me happy, for once.”

“Grantaire, that’s not what I-”

“Oh, so you’re okay with me leaving then?”

“I said that because I was going to miss you, you jerk, though you’re starting to make me question my former sentiments.”

“Oh go fuck off.”

“Fuck off yourself, you irreverent sack of shit.”

“I don’t need to. I’ll be fucked nice and hard by my fucking spectacular boyfriend tonight. And you know what, asshole, he doesn’t just spew out a bunch of pretty words from an untouchable pedestal. He actually goes out and does things for his beliefs. He’s ten times the social activist you’ll ever be. Thanks for reminding me how lucky I was to find him. Again, you’re a fucking asshole.” With that parting shot, Grantaire slung his bag over his shoulder and stormed his way out of the café, slamming the door shut behind him.

Bossuet and Feuilly both suddenly found the generally untouched books they’d brought with them fascinating, while Jehan and Combeferre nonverbally conferred over what to do about Enjolras, who looked like he might cry.

After exchanging a few pointed looks and a none too subtle tilt of the head, Combeferre was finally persuaded by Jehan to steer his friend out of the café in favor of the relative privacy of the quiet parking lot just behind it. Enjolras’ emotions hardened to a sustaining anger by the time they were outside. He fiercely yanked his arm away from Combeferre’s and stalked further into the parking lot. He kicked at the curb, then spun around and glared at his friend.

“I suppose you’re going to tell me that that was my fault.”

Combeferre shrugged. “It might not have happened if you’d taken the time to examine your feelings for Grantaire and admitted to yourself what they actually are, but frankly both of you were behaving terribly. You already know that though, so I won’t harp on it. Enjolras, I’m sorry.”

Enjolras’ anger drained out of him. He sat down on the curb and dropped his head into his hands, moving away from the violent display of emotion into a much more subdued, but infinitely more heartbreaking distress. “I feel sick, ‘Ferre. I don’t like this Wes person, and I can’t tell if it’s because he actually is the repugnant beast I think he is, or because I…if I’m distracted by…”

Combeferre walked over to him and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Just say it, Enjolras.”

Enjolras squeezed his eyes shut. “I like to think it wouldn’t bother me as much if he’d picked someone who could make him happy. If it was someone who was going to treat him well. But I don’t trust Wes at all.”

“Enjolras, we barely know him-”

“He _marked_ him, ‘Ferre, that’s what that hickey was. It was disgusting. I thought I was too hard hearted to date someone like Grantaire. I mean, I can’t give him what he needs. A relationship with a cold, distant bastard like me would be torture for him. But…but Wes isn’t any better. He’s got all the traits about myself I despise amplified.”

“Enjolras, we don’t know this kid yet. You’re rushing to judgment because you’re scared and you’re jealous.”

Enjolras shrunk away from him. “That’s not it at all,” he whispered.

“That’s what it sounds like to me. You have to give it a chance first or you’ll just push Grantaire away entirely. He’s defensive enough already, and you just made it worse in there.”

Enjolras let out a few shuddering breaths, and for an awful moment Combeferre thought he might be crying. However, when he stood up his face was dry. “We should go back inside.”

“Are you okay?”

Enjolras gave a stiff nod and started walking back towards the café. Combeferre’s mind was racing, wondering if he’d said the right things, if he’d been too blunt, or not blunt enough, and just plain worrying about what to do next. He didn’t notice Enjolras freeze in his tracks and almost walked into him.

He followed Enjolras’ line of sight to a lone car parked near the edge of the lot. Grantaire was pressed up against it, while Wes sucked and bit at his jaw and neck. Enjolras’ hands were balled into fists; it looked like his fingernails might be cutting into his palms.

Combeferre touched Enjolras’ arm, only to have him violently jerk away. “I know he has a right to make out in or on his boyfriend’s car, even if it is in incredibly poor taste. Just shut up.” He all but ran into the café, retrieved his things, and almost knocked Combeferre over when he raced out of it again.

Combeferre remained at the Musain for another half hour or so, but he spent the entire time worrying about Enjolras. Eventually he admitted defeat and headed back for their apartment. When he poked into Enjolras’ room, he found his friend sitting at his desk furiously typing at his computer.

So he was taking out his emotional frustration on conservative blogs and social media. That didn’t bode well for his state of mind.

He went into the kitchen, made two mugs of tea, then returned and set one on the desk. Enjolras made a noise in the back of his throat that was probably some kind of acknowledgment and thanks for the tea, but didn’t otherwise turn his attention from eviscerating his imaginary foes with his argumentative skills.

“Are you going to be okay?” Combeferre asked.

“Yes. I’m fine.”

“Do you want to talk?”

“Not particularly. I do appreciate the tea, though. Thank you.”

Combeferre nodded, and retreated from the room.

Enjolras was probably right. There wasn’t a whole lot to say about it, and besides that, if he did feel like talking he knew he could open up to Combeferre. His best-friend duties had been covered. So why did he still feel like he was dropping the ball on something?

Eventually Combeferre managed to shrug it off. He finished off his tea, did some reading for class, and ended up turning in early. The unsettling feeling that he’d missed something was gone by morning.

* * *

Meanwhile, Grantaire had grown uncomfortable essentially making out in public. He was barely comfortable getting physically intimate to begin with, let alone doing so when another person might stumble across how awkward he looked while he was trying to be seductive.

“W-Wes? Can we, mmph…can we get going?”

“Huh?” Wes detached his mouth from Grantaire’s neck and looked at him dazedly. “Sorry. Yeah, of course. Um…did you still want to get dinner or…” He brushed his hand over the crotch of Grantaire’s jeans, and he felt his face get warmer in response. Great, he was probably fucking blushing, which was going to make his acne look just fan-fucking tastic. He hated how prone his pasty pale skin was to going red. “We could always get food and bring it back to my place…have a little privacy?”

And yet Wes, who easily could have gotten his face plastered over magazine covers and been a teen heartthrob, found him somehow attractive despite his many physical defects. Baffling.

“Take out works,” Grantaire managed to choke out.

Wes pressed one more quick kiss to Grantaire’s lips, let out a satisfied murmur, and then went around to the passenger side of his car and unlocked the door. He held it open while Grantaire got inside, then got into the driver’s side.

The conversation while they got their food and drove to Wes’ place was pretty one-sided, though Grantaire couldn’t say he minded terribly. He was more than content to pretend to listen to Wes complaining about his classes, society at large, and Grantaire’s prissy little activist friends if it meant he got to keep his mouth shut and hide what a fuck-up he was for a little longer. He still couldn’t quite fathom how he’d gotten the man’s attention to begin with, was sure he’d do something to lose it, and desperately wished he’d had a few confidence building pre-date drinks instead of his disastrous attempt at socializing with his “friends.”

If you could call self-righteous, judgmental asshats friends.

Wes didn’t seem to notice Grantaire’s reticence. He took the occasional vague murmur and nod of the head as active engagement, content to rant on as long as Grantaire let him. By the time he unlocked the door to his apartment he was going on a tirade against the entire educational system and its jingoism (a point Grantaire actually would have liked to have explained), a rant he finished by dropping their bags of fast food on his coffee table with a dramatic flourish.

“Did you actually want to eat this shit?” Wes asked.

Grantaire quirked an eyebrow. “You said you wanted to get dinner.”

“That was a pretense to get to see you again. Do you want me to keep going through the motions or can we get naked yet?”

“Um, well…I suppose you did technically buy me dinner first even if we don’t eat-mmph!”

Suddenly, Grantaire found himself getting a tonsil examination via Wes’ tongue. He surrendered to the forceful kiss, though he didn’t find it nearly as pleasant as the equally passionate but technically superior ones they’d traded the previous night. Plus the hand fisted in his hair kind of hurt, and not in the fun kinky way (not that Grantaire really knew what the fun kinky way was supposed to feel like…)

Wes was apparently enjoying himself. His smile was wide and his eyes half lidded when he broke the kiss. “Come on, bright eyes.” He tugged Grantaire towards his bedroom and, feeling ridiculously nervous, Grantaire shuffled after him.

The next thing he knew he was on his back, half crushed between Wes’ body and the wall his bed was pressed against. Grantaire could barely breathe for the consuming kisses, the weight against him, and the hands roaming all over him. He wasn’t quite sure this was how making out was supposed to go. At any rate, his partner seemed to be getting a lot more out of it than he was.

“W-Wes?” He managed to get just enough space between them to talk. “Can we slow down a bit?”

Wes frowned, obviously confused. “What do you mean? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Grantaire said instinctually. “Just…I dunno, can you ease up a little? You’re a little…” He struggled to find a word that fit. “Pushy?”

“Pushy?”

“Well that’s not fucking it, but I dunno…can you be a bit gentler? You’re kind of crushing me.”

Wes tilted his head back and let out a ringing laugh. “How can I be crushing you? You’ve got to weigh more than me by at least ten pounds. Maybe more.” And then, to Grantaire’s horror, he reached over and squeezed the pudge around his stomach, giving it a jiggle. “I’m not the one with the beer gut.”

Grantaire would have liked to pull away, but he was crushed against the fucking wall. His expression must have conveyed how thoroughly uncomfortable that made him, because Wes turned instantly apologetic. “Shit, that was fucking awful of me. Sorry, sorry. Babe, I talk before I think. I’m an idiot. Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Grantaire lied.

Wes framed his face with his hands. “You’re beautiful. I know I’m utterly failing at convincing you of that with my impulsiveness and my word vomit, but it’s true. Belly and all.”

“Can we not talk about the beer gut?”

“I think it’s cute. I mean, look at me. I’m a fucking twig. I look like a prepubescent girl.” Wes sat up and stripped off his shirt, showing off a leanly muscled torso, defined abdominals, and sexy arms. Grantaire couldn’t quite see the prepubescent girl there.

“Your body is amazing,” Grantaire said, partially in awe and partially in horror because he knew he could never compete with that.

In a reversal, Wes’ cheeks were the ones to color. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding. But thanks.” He pushed his hair out of his face and then dropped down next to Grantaire. He curled on his side and started idly tracing his fingertips over Grantaire’s cheek and jawline. “I really don’t want to fuck this up. You’re the first person who’s been willing to put up with me in ages.”

“I find that ridiculous,” Grantaire breathed, finally starting to get turned on from the intimacy of the light touches. And there was something hypnotic about those incredible green eyes of his. “Not only are you freakishly good looking, you’re so damn…different. Like, you’re actually unique and you’re not a tool. It’s…I’ve never met anyone like you and I mean that in the best possible way.”

Wes’ lips quirked upwards ever so slightly while his eyes lit up. “Yeah? I feel the same way about you.” He dropped his hand from Grantaire’s face, but re-established contact by snagging Grantaire’s hand and twining their fingers together. “I swear I’d be romancing the fuck out of you if I had any clue how to do it.”

“Well, tip one, please don’t jiggle my belly.”

“Do I have any hope of convincing you that the belly’s cute?”

“None. Whatsoever. And please don’t call me cute. I’ll respond to sexy motherfucker though.”

Wes let out his high pitched laugh and buried his face against Grantaire’s t-shirt. “Only if I get to be the suave motherfucker.”

“Damn right you’re a suave motherfucker,” Grantaire bantered. “You’re dating me.”

“Mm…” Wes wrapped his arms around Grantaire’s waist and started mouthing kisses against his chest, despite the barrier of the t-shirt. “All mine…I can’t help but feel I’ve done well for myself.”

Finally starting to feel relaxed, and even a little relieved that he hadn’t had those pre-date drinks, Grantaire shifted so that he could pull Wes more fully into his arms. Initially Wes settled into the cuddle, but then he started squirming, obviously restless.

“If I promise to behave, can we start making out again?” Wes asked.

Grantaire would have liked to have a witty answer, or at least an excuse to say suave motherfucker again, but when Wes looked at him with that naked hunger and _want_ he found himself only dimly capable of nodding.

The next morning, when he stumbled back to his place, wincing from the ache in his backside and the way his clothes chafed at the fingernail scratches on his eternally sensitive skin, Grantaire silently questioned if he’d made the right choice. It seemed a little stupid to go that far with someone after one date (well, pretense of a date, to be precise). Especially considering they’d known each other for a grand total of two days.

There was no denying they’d forged a pretty strong connection in those two days though…

He wasn’t going to let it bother him. Hell, he’d gone nearly four hours without thinking about Enjolras, which had to be some kind of personal best. It looked like dating Wes might even be good for him.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire disappears again, so Courfeyrac drags him back out again. The boys finally get a proper introduction to their friend's new man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the feedback guys! I'm having a hard time coming up with responses for this fic, since I'm not really sure where it's going but also don't want to give away what little I've got planned. That being said, I still really appreciate getting the comments even though I probably won't be replying.

“Enjolras, we need to talk.”

Enjolras slid the blanket he was curled up under just low enough so that he could see, identified the annoyingly loud presence in his room as Courfeyrac, and returned the blanket to its original position. “What are you doing here?”

If his alarm hadn’t gone off yet, then it meant it was sometime before six in the morning. Courfeyrac had no business being in his room before six in the morning.

Not that Courfeyrac seemed to be at all aware of or perturbed by that. “The better question is what are _you_ doing, Enjolras? Just so you know, I went to great lengths to get Grantaire out in the world again after you chased him into hiding, and practically the minute he got out of his own head long enough to get out there and meet people, you yelled at him and made him disappear. Will you cut that the crap out?”

He sat down on Enjolras’ desk chair and swiveled it over towards the bed. The kid was annoyingly nonplussed about his breaking and entering. Enjolras figured he wouldn’t get anywhere by pointing that out, and reluctantly engaged in the conversation.

“For the record, he yelled at me too.” He shot Courfeyrac a defensive glare from a tiny opening in his blankets.

“Blanket cocoon aside, you can take it when he yells. Your yelling has a much stronger impact on him. Case in point, no one’s seen the kid in like a week.”

Enjolras groaned and finally sat up. Then he blinked a few times. “The sun’s not up. Who let you in?”

“I have my ways.”

“Courfeyrac, really, what are you doing here?”

Courfeyrac frowned. “Worrying about Grantaire.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair and let out a deep sigh. “Kay, so I maybe sort of spent half my night bar crawling in the hopes that I could find him. He’s not answering calls or texts or anything and I don’t have classes with him so I don’t know if he’s been at school. No one else has been talking to him. I’m starting to worry. What if his shitty apartment finally caught fire and killed him?”

“If he’d died in a tragic and highly illegal manner, it would have made the local news.”

“This is why I knew I needed to talk to you. I just sensed it, man, that you’d know what to say. Okay, so he didn’t die in his deathtrap apartment. But where the fuck is he?”

Enjolras frowned. “How was it my fault when he disappeared last time?” He got the most recent one. Not that he agreed with Courfeyrac assigning all the blame to him and none on Grantaire, but he at least understood the kid’s reasoning. However, the last time Grantaire had disappeared, Enjolras had actually been getting along with the dissolute pest.

Courfeyrac shrugged off his confusion like it was nothing, but he did explain. “Oh, because he overheard you lying to Combeferre about how you don’t love him. He tried to drink himself to death after that. But clearly you love the crap out of him, because you’ve gotten positively stupid with jealousy. ‘Taire’s self-esteem is just so shitty that he didn’t see it.”

Enjolras rubbed at his eyes. “I’m…too tired to deal with this. Can you come back when the sun is up?”

“Nah, I’ve been up all night. I’m sleeping at least until noon, and then I’ve got shit to do. I’ll meet you at the Musain after classes.”

Shit. He had to be up alarmingly soon for one of those. “Sometimes I really hate you, Courfeyrac.”

“Love you too, sweetie.” Courfeyrac leaned over and kissed Enjolras’ cheek.

Courfeyrac was rubbing his arm and whining about how he was going to have a bruise when he let himself out.

* * *

Courfeyrac didn’t return to finish pestering him. Enjolras almost dismissed the encounter as something his half-awake brain had cooked up just to make him feel worse about the present situation with Grantaire, but then, he was pretty sure his subconscious could do worse than a nagging friend poking him while he tried to sleep. He wasn’t sure if he was actually going to meet up with Courfeyrac at the Musain though.

As Grantaire was on silent to their group, Enjolras hadn’t had the opportunity to apologize and smooth things over. It seemed that now that Grantaire had a boyfriend to distract him he wasn’t interested in the effort of hanging onto his friends. If Enjolras wanted to fix this, he was going to have to take the initiative.

Grantaire might have been blowing off his friends, but he still had to attend class for another week and a half before the semester finished. Enjolras tried to remember what books he’d seen Grantaire with that semester and what kinds of assignments he’d been bitching about, scrolled through the course catalogue, then set out to lurk in doorways and see if he could find his missing friend.

Eventually his strategy bore fruit, though he was reading an article on his phone and almost missed Grantaire when he shuffled past after his philosophy class let out. However, Enjolras caught a familiar whiff of paint, varnish, cigarette smoke, and something distinctly Grantaire that made him look up. Grantaire hadn’t seen him, so Enjolras had to jump to his feet and rush after him.

“Grantaire, hey! Hey, wait up for a second.”

Grantaire stopped, stared at Enjolras blankly, then resumed walking down the hall. “I’m busy.”

Undeterred, Enjolras followed after him and grabbed his arm when they got to the stairwell. “When can I talk to you then? No one’s seen you or heard from you in a week and we’re starting to wo-are you wearing makeup?”

His face immediately went red, though Grantaire did a remarkable job keeping a poker face otherwise. “It’s just a little eyeliner. Wes likes my eyes, so I thought, y’know, why the fuck not emphasize them a little? Now will you let me go? I have shit to get done.”

Enjolras realized that not only did he still have his hand clamped on Grantaire’s arm, but that he was also gaping at the kid with his mouth open. The thin smears of black really did do wonders for drawing emphasis away from Grantaire’s bad skin and towards his undeniably lovely eyes…

“S-sorry.” Enjolras let him go and took a step back. “So is that it then? You’ve got a boyfriend, so fuck off to all your friends?”

Grantaire let out an irritable sigh and scrubbed a hand through his hair. Accepting that Enjolras wasn’t letting him go that easily, he shuffled off to the side so as not to block the corridor, Enjolras following after. “This is hardly unprecedented. Joly and Bahorel both disappeared for like a month after they met ‘Chetta and that giggly ditz. I’ve been busy with my new guy. Can’t I just enjoy that without being a shitty friend?”

Finding it suddenly hard to speak, Enjolras only nodded. Something about his expression seemed to get through to Grantaire, who seemed to (finally) pick up on the sincerity of his concern. “I’m sorry. I could have been responding to your texts. I just…I guess I thought you guys didn’t want to see me either.”

“Well that’s most certainly not the case. If you’d start showing up again…” Enjolras trailed off as he noticed Grantaire’s boy slinking up the staircase behind them.

Wes wrapped a possessive arm around Grantaire’s waist and dropped a kiss on his neck. “Hey, bright eyes. What’s taking so long?”

The flush Enjolras’ earlier comment generated started to spread down Grantaire’s neck. “Sorry. I was on my way out, I swear.”

“Hm.” Wes settled his chin on Grantaire’s shoulder and eyed Enjolras with a glint of challenge in his eyes. “Hey dude. You’re one of the café regulars, aren’t you?”

“Mm hm. I’m sorry; I didn’t realize I was keeping you from a date.”

“It’s not really…we just usually have lunch together.”

Usually. They’d been dating for a week!

“I won’t keep you.” Enjolras kept his eyes determinedly fixed on Grantaire’s face in an attempt not to notice the way Wes’ hand had crept under the hem of his shirt. He had his fingers splayed over Grantaire’s stomach. The bastard knew how warm and nice Grantaire’s skin felt under his hands, not in theory but from actually getting to touch him. He knew what his lips felt like, what they tasted like, got to see Grantaire’s pretty eyes light up when he walked into a room because he was actually happy to see him there…

Enjolras turned on his heel and stalked away from them as fast as his feet would carry him. His one late afternoon class entirely forgotten, he went back to his apartment to sulk in privacy.

* * *

Meanwhile, Grantaire felt off-balance as he and Wes walked to their spot, a clump of trees between two of the dorm buildings. Wes sat down with his back against a trunk and spread his legs, and Grantaire obediently settled between them, his back resting against Wes’ chest. “What was blondie pestering you about? Signing a useless but pretty sounding petition or something?”

“No…he was just wondering where I’ve been lately.”

“Oh.” Wes pulled some containers out of his bag and handed Grantaire the one with trail mix in it. “So in addition to his charming naiveté when it comes to social politics he’s also nosey and prying? How attractive. He’s lucky he’s good looking.”

“Dude, he is one of my friends. Can you try not to talk so much shit about him?”

“Can you not call your boyfriend dude? I mean, as far as pet names go it’s definitely subpar. And sorry. I just don’t like the guy.”

Grantaire started shuffling the container between his hands, feeling no desire whatsoever to eat any of it. “You don’t know him. You don’t know any of them.”

“Well, what I’ve seen at the hipster hotspots hasn’t endeared me to them, that’s for fucking sure. They’re a bunch of twatty idealists with their heads too far up their own asses to ever actually do anything. Am I wrong?”

Grantaire shrugged. “They’re trying. That’s something. I mean, all you really do is bitch-ow! Did you just bite me?”

Wes kissed the small mark he’d just left on Grantaire’s neck, sending shivers up his spine. “I figured I’d best cut you off there before you said something you might regret. Bright eyes, you’re not eating. C’mon, you’re a stick other than the tummy.”

Being reminded of his stomach wasn’t at all conducive to giving him an appetite. Grantaire thought of Wes’ gorgeously toned abs and was suddenly all the more aware of the way his stomach tightly pressed against his jeans. “M’not that hungry. I had a big breakfast.”

“I call bullshit. You stumble into your first class practically directly from your bed. Eat the trail mix, Grantaire. I have no interest in making out with a skeleton.”

Wes pestered him with food all during the break in their classes. Grantaire’s body image issues seemed to have spooked his boyfriend. All of a sudden, Wes had gotten awfully fussy about whether Grantaire was taking in calories other than booze or not. It would have been endearing if it wasn’t making Grantaire feel anxious and smothered.

Besides that, Wes was a little too aggressive to be a caretaker. They parted ways at the theater building, Grantaire continuing to the lecture halls by the English department, Wes heading back to his own campus. Grantaire felt a little sick to his stomach from eating food he hadn’t really wanted, and as soon as Wes was out of sight he ran for the bathroom and threw it all up.

Usually his stomach settled after he’d thrown up, but it continued roiling and aching. Generally, he felt pretty weak all over. Deciding he wasn’t interested in sitting through a class like that, Grantaire hauled himself to his feet and started shuffling towards his apartment…which was rather a far crawl from campus. Or, farther than he wanted to walk when he felt like shit.

He decided to break the silence with his friends and force his shitty company on Courfeyrac instead.

Because unless he was much mistaken, that was the real reason Enjolras had hunted him down pretending like he gave a shit about him.

* * *

When Courfeyrac got back from his afternoon lecture he found a surly alcoholic on his futon. He stared at Grantaire for a few seconds, then walked past him and continued on to the kitchen. He came back a few minutes later, having swapped his messenger bag for a pillow, a blanket, a glass of water, and a bottle of aspirin.

“M’not hung over,” Grantaire snapped.

“For once.” Courfeyrac set the glass of water on the coffee table, hit Grantaire with the pillow, and then went back to helping him. Soon enough Grantaire was propped against the arm of the couch with his boots off and the blanket over him.

Courfeyrac ran his fingers lightly through Grantaire’s messy hair, brow furrowed with concern. “I suppose the time of day’s not right for you to be hung over. What is it? You sick?”

“Probably. I’ve been feeling off for a couple of days. Being cornered by Enjolras unexpectedly didn’t help, by the way. You’re an asshole.”

“What makes you think that was my fault?”

Grantaire fixed him with a _look_ and Courfeyrac laughed. “Fine, that was me. But dude, we’ve all been missing you and Enjolras is the only person you won’t completely ignore. Are you wearing makeup?”

Grantaire rubbed his eye with the heel of his hand. “Shut up. Wes likes it.”

“Ah…” Courfeyrac frowned, contemplating his friend and cataloguing the changes he saw. New clothes, new cologne (in that he was wearing cologne to begin with), and possibly a bit of weight loss. Well, it wasn’t necessarily a bad sign. A significant other could be a powerful motivator when it came to personal grooming…except fussier personal grooming had never been Grantaire’s thing. He’d never bothered trying to clean up properly for a boyfriend before.

“How are things going with you and your boy?” Courfeyrac asked. He sat down on the coffee table across from the couch so as to better pester Grantaire into drinking the water. “They must be either fucking fantastic, given your complete absence to your codependent clique. Or fucking awful if he’s making you want to hide. So which is it?”

Grantaire pushed the glass of water away and curled into himself, pressing his face into the couch cushion. “I didn’t come here for an interrogation. I came here because I felt like shit and I didn’t want to walk home.”

Courfeyrac sighed. “So I should be worried?”

“What?” Grantaire sat up. “Fuck. No, of course not. Things are fine. I’ve been hanging out with Wes every day because I’m giddy about a new relationship. Why? What the fuck do you guys think is going on?”

Courfeyrac shrugged. “Well we’re not really sure what to think. First of all, you disappeared. Secondly, none of us have had a good interaction with Wes except you. We don’t really know what to think of him, other than that he seems kind of possessive of you. I mean, it’s not necessarily bad. Could just be a phase in the new relationship, but without us seeing you it’s hard to know for sure. Y’know?”

“For fuck’s sake Courfeyrac, I’m not in an abusive relationship.” Grantaire let out an exasperated noise and rubbed at his eyes. He looked exhausted.

“I’m not saying you are, but I’m still glad to hear it.” Courfeyrac reached over to give his arm a pat. “How long do you want to crash on my couch?”

“Dunno…maybe an hour? Just until I stop feeling like shit.”

“Uh huh. You got plans with Wes tonight or are you coming by the Musain with us?”

“I don’t fucking know…” Grantaire rolled over again and pulled the pillow over his head, garbling his reply a bit. “I guess I could invite Wes to the Musain.”

“That’d be cool. I’d like the chance to form a better opinion of him.”

“I don’t see why you formed a bad opinion to begin with,” Grantaire grumbled.

Courfeyrac rolled his eyes, but rather than explain his widely shared misgivings he left for his bedroom to give Grantaire a chance to rest up.

* * *

Grantaire was tackled by his friends as soon as he walked through the door. They were treating him like he’d been gone for months, if not years, disappeared under dubious circumstances and declared dead or something, not caught up in a new romance. “We really need to examine our codependence,” Grantaure muttered.

Bahorel smacked his arm hard enough to bruise, though he meant it good naturedly. “C’mon dude, we’re unhealthily fixated as fuck about each other. We all know that already.”

“And as such, it was very inconsiderate of you not to even respond to our texts, R,” Joly sniffed. He could only hold up the indignant act for another few seconds before breaking into a wide smile and pulling his friend into a hug. “I can’t believe it’s been a week since we’ve seen each other though. You look so different. I like what you did to your hair.”

“Thanks.” Grantaire pulled away from Joly and took a seat at the far end of the table his friends were occupying. Ignoring several overlapping attempts to pull him into conversation, he took out his phone to check if Wes had texted him.

Then his phone was plucked out of his hands. “Hey!”

“Sorry dude,” Courfeyrac said, not sounding sorry in the slightest. “But I did not drag you out here to watch you text your boyfriend. You’re going to be social, R. That involves talking to people.”

“I wasn’t going to…I just wanted to make sure he got my message earlier.”

“Well I assume he did,” Courfeyrac said, motioning towards the doorway. Wes had just walked in and was intently scanning the crowded café. Courfeyrac tossed Grantaire’s phone back to him, then twisted around and let out a shrill whistle. “Hey, over here!”

Wes narrowed his eyes in confusion at Courfeyrac, but then his gaze rested on Grantaire sitting opposite him and, wearing a small smile, he walked over. He gracefully slid into the open seat next to Grantaire and dropped a quick kiss on the side of his mouth. “Hey. I missed you after class today.”

“I wasn’t feeling great so I crashed at Courf’s for a bit. Uh, right, so let’s get the introductions over with. This is Courferyrac…” Grantaire nodded towards the friend sitting opposite him and Courfeyrac reached across the table to shake hands.

“Hey. Nice to meet you officially,” Courfeyrac said.

“Likewise. I’ve heard a lot about you,” Wes returned.

“That’s Joly,” Grantaire said, continuing down the table. “Don’t bother shaking hands though. He’s a hypochondriac.”

“We can shake hands!” Joly insisted. “Just, y’know, let me give you a dab of antibacterial gel first.”

Wes laughed. “Wow. You’re serious, aren’t you? Don’t worry about it.” He refused the small bottle of hand gel Joly had fixed to his key ring and glanced at the next friend.

“This is Legle, whom we mostly call Bossuet. That’s Bahorel, the poet at the end there is Jehan, and I thought I saw Feuilly’s truck when I walked in.”

“He’s not still at the counter, is he?” Courfeyrac asked, badly concealing a laugh.

“Dude’s fucking smitten with that barista. What an embarrassment,” Bahorel chimed in, rather hypocritically as he’d spent a good three hours trying to charm the girl less than a week ago.

Once the general banter started back up Wes slid his chair closer to Grantaire’s and wrapped an arm around him, splaying his fingers out over Grantaire’s hip. “So why weren’t you feeling well?”

“Dunno,” Grantaire mumbled, hoping he’d just drop it.

“You’re not getting sick, are you?”

“Sick?” Joly yelped, unable to help overhearing the most dreaded of words and zeroing in on it. He scooched back from the table a bit and pulled his t-shirt up over his nose as though that would help anything.

“I’m not sick,” Grantaire insisted. “I just kind of crashed. It happens sometimes.”

“Ah, well if it was an energy thing then you probably need to eat something. Want me to get you a sandwich?”

“Wes, I’m fine. I ate at Courf’s.”

“Okay, okay. Sorry for being concerned.”

“That’s not…” Scowling, Grantaire slumped down a little, looking defeated. “Fine. Get the fucking sandwich.” Wes kissed him again, then went off to procure some form of sustenance.

Courfeyrac raised his eyebrows in some surprise but had the decency not to say anything. Bahorel, on the other hand, had no such decency. “Fuck, ‘Taire, is he your boyfriend or your mother?”

“Fuck you. At least I’ve _got_ a boyfriend.”

Bahorel shrugged. “Touché, I guess.”

Combeferre and Enjolras walked in while Wes was still at the counter. Grantaire immediately ducked his head, though thankfully it didn’t seem like Enjolras was any more eager to talk to him. Without acknowledging Grantaire at all, Enjolras sat down by Jehan at the far end of the table and took out his laptop. With an expression of mild annoyance, Combeferre snagged a chair and sat down on Enjolras’ other side.

Wes was animatedly talking to Feuilly when he returned, bearing a plate with some kind of wrap on it. Feuilly was holding a to-go cup with a phone number scrawled on it in sharpie instead of his name, a pleased flush covering his cheeks.

“Just so everyone knows, R’s new boy is a fantastic wing man,” Feuilly said with approval.

“Yeah?” Bahorel was suddenly more invested in making conversation. “Wes, what do you think my chances are with that chick over there?” He motioned towards a cute girl waiting for her drink at the pick up counter.

Wes gave the girl a once over and shook his head. “Atrocious. She’s gay.”

“What?” Bahorel shook his head. “No way. She’s too pretty.”

Joly made a comically exaggerated noise of disgust. “I’m sorry, did you just imply that pretty girls can’t be gay?”

“Well she doesn’t look like a _lesbian_.”

“So have you never heard the term lipstick lesbian?” Courfeyrac asked. “Still though…Wes, do you know her or something?”

Wes shook his head. “Nope. I just have impeccable gaydar.”

Half the table laughed at that, though Bahorel looked like he was taking Wes’ assessment as a challenge. “So you don’t really know, then. You’re just guessing.”

“I suppose I am, but trust me meathead, that girl likes pussy.”

“And again, how are you so sure of this intimate detail about a stranger?” Joly asked.

“I told you. Impeccable gaydar.”

“Which was why you had to ask me if I was gay,” Grantaire teased.

“Just shut up and eat your food, babe. You’re better seen and not heard.” Wes’ tone was teasing enough, but the comment still didn’t sit well with Grantaire’s friends. They’d all been far more cruel to him in jest, but they’d also known him for years and were used to bro-like banter. Based on how stung Grantaire looked when he dutifully took a bite of the wrap, he and Wes didn’t have that kind of rapport just yet.

The mood at the table immediately changed. Wes looked unsure of himself as he faltered for something to say to fix the damage. Then Bahorel helped him out of his hole by decidedly getting to his feet. “Fuck this hypothetical gaydar shit. I’m going over to talk to her and I will let you know if she’s a lesbian.”

“Good luck,” Bossuet said, clapping Bahorel encouragingly on the back.

“Gaydar isn’t real,” Enjolras added, the sole indication he’d heard anything that had gone on as his attention was still unwaveringly focused on his laptop.

Wes started to say something, but Grantaire got his attention with a quick caress. “Just ignore him.”

“The prick won’t even acknowledge me. Except to mock me, apparently,” Wes heatedly whispered, gaze intently fixed on his boyfriend. “What are his redeeming qualities, exactly?”

“Wes, c’mon,” Grantaire whispered back. “He’s a little blunt, okay? Just don’t take what he says to heart and you’ll be fine.”

“Your friends are intimidating the crap out of me, bright eyes. I need a break.” Wes fished a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and made to stand up. Grantaire was going to follow, but Wes put a firm hand on his shoulder, keeping him in his chair. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Stay with your friends.”

“Kay.” Once Wes was out of sight, Grantaire threw out the mostly uneaten wrap and returned the plate to the counter. When he sat down again, Courfeyrac and Joly were staring at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” Courfeyrac said, mentally adding ‘potential eating disorder’ to the list of problem behaviors he’d been observing and trying to correct in his friend. “It looks like Bahorel’s doing pretty well with the alleged lesbian.”

“Yeah, he still hasn’t come back yet. That’s a good sign, right?” Bossuet asked. Grantaire shrugged. His attention was far more invested in the apparent squabble between Enjolras and Combeferre than anything Bahorel was doing, but he wasn’t really in a place to easily observe any of them. He could see that Enjolras looked pissed off, but he couldn’t hear anything the guy was saying.

Bahorel rejoined them a few minutes later, looking triumphant. “Am I to take it that Wes’ gaydar was flawed?” Courfeyrac asked.

“Huh? Naw, she’s very much into the ladies. But she has a hot straight sister and I scored a phone number anyway. Fuck yeah.”

Courfeyrac craned around in his seat to once more give the lady in question a look over and shrugged. “I have no idea how he knew. Well, whatevs. We’ll have to let Wes know he was right when he gets back.”

“Yeah, he seems like the kind of guy who’d care enough to want to know,” Bossuet added.

Grantaire perked up, feeling defensive. “Just what in the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Bossuet shrugged. “I dunno. That he likes being right…?”

“He’s kind of controlling,” Joly said, helping Bossuet out of his hole by digging one for himself.

Grantaire glared daggers at him. “Wes is _not_ controlling.”

“He’s been dominating your schedule for a week and he’s telling you when to eat,” Bahorel pointed out.

“Guys.” Courfeyrac glanced significantly at his friends. “Back off. This isn’t helping.”

“Do you think he’s controlling?” Grantaire snapped.

Courfeyrac pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m not answering that right now.”

“So you do-”

“’Taire, let it go. We’ll talk about this later.”

“No, Courf, I want you to answer me-”

“Is everything okay?” Wes had appeared while they were snapping at each other, and he looked so awkward and uncomfortable that most of the friends felt guilty about shit-talking him while he’d been absent.

Grantaire stood up and grabbed his sweatshirt. “Let’s get out of here. I’m done with these assholes for the night.”

“Hey, that’s not fair,” Joly said with a pout.

“C’mon dude, we’ve missed you,” Bahorel said.

“Yeah, well maybe you shouldn’t all jump down my throat the next time you see me. I might hang around a bit longer then.” Grantaire grabbed Wes’ arm and started tugging him towards the door. Looking lost, Wes shuffled after him.

They’d barely made it outside when, of all the friends Grantaire didn’t want to see, Enjolras ran up to them. Just barely biting back an irritated huff, Grantaire turned on his heel to face him and get it over with. “What? What the fuck is it?”

Maybe it was his imagination, but Enjolras actually looked a little hurt by the outburst. The odd expression only lasted a few seconds, so Grantaire couldn’t be sure, and anyway, it was promptly replaced by his usual confident defiance. “Combeferre feels I may have been behaving inappropriately regarding your new relationship.” Here he quickly shifted his gaze towards Wes before returning his attention to Grantaire, his way of saying they were both included in what was to follow. “If that’s the case, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude or off-putting.”

Grantaire smirked. “No, I suppose you never _mean_ to be.”

“Well…I am sorry if I’m making you uncomfortable.” He held out his hand towards Wes, an almost hopeful look on his face.

And then, rather than shaking the proffered hand, Wes cast a disgusted look on Enjolras and wordlessly started walking away. He clearly expected Grantaire to follow, but he couldn’t just leave Enjolras standing there looking so confused and wounded. He, at least, was trying to be nice.

“Uh…apology accepted? Don’t worry about it, Enjolras. I think there’s something going on with Wes. Like, like stress or something. He was nervous about meeting you guys. I shouldn’t have sprung everyone on him all at once. I’m just gonna catch up to him and make sure he’s okay. I’ll see you around, right?”

Enjolras dully nodded. “I guess. Grantaire, wait.” He grabbed Grantaire’s arm, just barely managing to stop him before he ran after his retreating boyfriend. But then he didn’t say anything. He swallowed a few times, and it was the closest Grantaire could ever remember standing to Enjolras, the most physical contact he’d ever had with him and if it wasn’t for Wes his hopes would have been sky-high right then…

“Enjolras?” Grantaire prompted.

“I really miss you,” Enjolras muttered. It looked like he wanted to say more, but he couldn’t choke anything else out.

Grantaire nodded. “I’m sorry. I’ll be around, I promise. See you.” He pulled his arm out of Enjolras’ suddenly limp grasp and ran to catch up with Wes.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wes and Enjolras have some issues with jealousy. Different problems arise when they try to come clean to Grantaire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that was quick. Don't expect the next chapter to follow with quite this much rapidity, but yeah...I guess the boys weren't done talking to me today. Anywho, enjoy :)
> 
> Or not, actually. There's rather a lot of angst in this one. And more of Enjolras being rather dim when it comes to emotions. But we love him despite his remedial understanding of the human heart, right?

Wes was uncharacteristically quiet after they left the Musain. Grantaire left him to his thoughts, as he was busily trying to get his own in order, but then they got to Wes’ apartment and the silence was getting unbearable.

Grantaire rested his palms on Wes’ shoulder blades and leaned up on tiptoes so he could nuzzle against the back of his neck. “You’re okay, right?”

Some of the tension released from him, and when Wes turned around he was smiling. He cupped Grantaire’s face in his hands and leaned in for a tender kiss. “Yeah, I’m okay as long as you’re okay. Sorry.” Wes leaned back and scrubbed his hands through his hair. He kept his elbows sticking out for a moment and took a few slow breaths. “That was just…I mean shit, when you asked me to come out and meet some of your friends I really didn’t expect everyone all at once.”

“S-sorry,” Grantaire stuttered out. He loved his friends. He knew they could be kind of…well, _a lot_ to handle when they were together, but he also didn’t think Wes was the kind of guy to feel intimidated by a social gathering. “I guess I didn’t think it through.”

“Hey, bright eyes, look at me.” Wes tilted his chin up and gave him another quick kiss. “It was mostly fine. I mean, you were right about one thing. As long as I don’t talk politics with them most of those guys are pretty cool. I had a great conversation with Feuilly while we were waiting for our orders.”

“Yeah?” It was stupid, how hopeful he sounded, but Grantaire really wanted his boyfriend to like his friends. He’d missed hanging out with them, and he figured the best way to resolve that was to fold Wes into the group. Because they were totally in the honeymoon phase of the relationship, and he liked spending every minute he was able to with his new boyfriend, dammit.

“Yeah,” Wes said, a soft smile lingering on his pretty, full lips. Grantaire got distracted for a moment watching him trace a cut on his lower lip with his tongue, then remembered to look back at his absorbing green gaze instead.

A green gaze that didn’t at all match the softness of the rest of his expression.

“It’s just that Enjolras kid that I don’t like. I don’t know if I can take him, Grantaire. He’s an asshole. And I’m not crazy about his right hand man either.”

Grantaire faltered. “You didn’t even talk to Combeferre.”

“I didn’t need to. Didn’t you see the way he was coaching blondie? Egging him on against me? Those assholes don’t know me. How the hell can they judge me?” Wes backed up a few paces. The sudden rush of anger had twisted his face into an unbecoming scowl.

“Um, to be fair dude, you don’t know Enj and ‘Ferre and you’re judging the fuck out of them right now.”

Wes seized Grantaire by the arm and gave him a rough shake. “Fuck off! I’m not like those pretentious jack offs. And what did I fucking say about calling me dude? I’m not one of your fucking bros, Grantaire, I’m your _boyfriend_. Will you fucking act like it?”

“Sorry,” Grantaire yelped. He tried to yank his arm out of Wes’ grasp, but the guy had a strong grip. “Let go of me! Fucking hell, Wes!”

Wes flung him backwards and Grantaire stumbled into the wall. He clutched at his upper arm, letting out a soft gasp when his fingers touched the sore spots. Wes had really dug his bony fingers into the fleshy part of Grantaire’s arm.

For a moment Wes looked stricken. His eyes widened, his knees shook, and Grantaire was sure he was going to apologize. Then, as quickly as the terror had come on it was gone, replaced with a slow, simmering anger of a completely different character than the sudden outburst that had just passed. Wes crowded into Grantaire’s space again, grabbed his chin with his claw-like fingers and forced him to make eye contact.

“We need to be clear about a few things,” Wes said, voice low and raspy. “For starters, I don’t want to be conflated with your friends, so watch what you fucking call me. And another thing, they’re _your_ fucking friends, Grantaire, not mine. I don’t need to impress them and I shouldn’t need their approval to date you. If they don’t like me then they can go fuck themselves.”

“Wes, if you’re asking me to pick between you and my friends…” He wanted to sound firm there, but Grantaire didn’t even believe himself when he said it, and as such he couldn’t choke the weak statement out to its conclusion. The fact was, Grantaire had been unbearably lonely and miserable and starved for attention, and he couldn’t go back to that. He probably would pick Wes. He’d hate himself for it, based on how the night was going, but that didn’t mean Grantaire was suddenly going to develop a spine.

Wes let go of his chin in favor of stroking the side of his face. It felt like a mockery of his more habitual caresses. “I’m not saying that. Really, babe, I’m not. But…we’ve gotta figure out something, because if you ask me to go in the same room as that uptight twat Enjolras again I might puke.”

“Why do you hate him so much?” Grantaire really wanted to ask _how_ Wes could hate him, because he just didn’t understand the possibility of anyone hating Enjolras. He’d been so stupidly in love with the guy for so long that he didn’t get how other people failed to be similarly enraptured with the beautiful young activist.

“I…I don’t know.” Wes seemed to deflate. He wrapped his arms around Grantaire’s waist and tucked his head under his chin. He had to hunch over to do so, making it a damn awkward embrace, which it would have been anyway given how unsettling their conversation was turning out. “I mean, I didn’t really like him to begin with. I have issues with his politics-”

“So do I, but not with him as a person. As a person he’s-”

“Please, please don’t praise the guy you’re enamored with to me right now or I really will throw up,” Wes pleaded, sounding so vulnerable that Grantaire was caught completely off guard.

“Wes…you’re not jealous, are you?” It was Grantaire’s turn to tilt his face up, and the very real fear he saw haunting Wes shocked him. “You have absolutely nothing to worry about. Enjolras is not competition.”

“Look, I know you don’t think you’re any kind of catch, but the fact is you’re actually really fantastic, and clever, and so much better than I deserve and I’m sure that gorgeous bitch would steal you away from me in a heartbeat if he had half a chance. As is, I’m convinced he’s going to try his damndest to convince you to dump me.” Wes’ face crumpled as something occurred to him. “And yanking you around by your arm and making you wince and screaming at you in a fucking hissy fit is probably playing right into that, isn’t it? Fuck. I swear on everything decent, I’m just trying to figure out how to be a good boyfriend. I don’t know what I’m fucking doing. Wait, I'm failing. That's what I'm doing, I’m fucking failing. Just like always.”

“Wes, hey…” Grantaire couldn’t help but wonder if that was what he sounded like to his friends. He held Wes close and stroked his hair and back until he started to calm down. “Enjolras isn’t interested in me. I don’t think he’s interested in dating anyone, but especially not me. I overheard him talking about me with Combeferre once and I’m…I guess repellently not his type or something. Anyway, so yeah, no worries there. Besides…I wouldn’t pick him over you.”

“You promise?” Wes sounded so meek. It was weird, coming from him. “Because you said you really liked him.”

Loved him. Crazily, stupidly, it-hurt-to-breathe-sometimes loved him. But he’d already wasted enough of his heart on that.

“I really like you,” Grantaire whispered. He rubbed his thumb over a sharp cheekbone and leaned in for a peck. “A lot, actually. Give it a little more time and I’ll probably be head over heels for you.”

“I’m sorry about the way I grabbed you.”

“I know you are. It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. You’re probably going to have a bruise because of me and my damn temper. Grantaire, I’m so sor-”

Grantaire shut him up with a kiss. “I really think we’ve both done enough apologizing for tonight. C’mon, let’s relax for a little while.” He grasped Wes’ hand, twined their fingers together, and walked him towards the bedroom.

He was intending to cuddle, maybe chat about lighter things or watch a movie, but put Wes on a flat surface in a private room and things tended to get heated.

Grantaire went with it, lying back and letting Wes take the lead, as usual. The marks on Grantaire’s arm had started visibly bruising by the time Wes got his shirt off, and when he saw the sore spots he’d left on his lover his face twisted with guilt. It almost killed the mood entirely, and Grantaire had a time recapturing it with whispered endearments and desperate entreaties to keep going.

It was the gentlest fuck they’d had so far. In fact, if Grantaire were a more romantic person he might even say they’d made love.

When they finished, Grantaire rested his head on Wes’ chest and kept his damn foolish mouth shut, lest something unforgivably sappy pour out of him. Wes wrapped trembling arms around him, still breathing a bit quick. Grantaire couldn’t tell if it was the exertion or a budding panic attack. “Wes…?”

“M’fine,” Wes mumbled. He traced a few fingers over the top of Grantaire’s mess of hair, just barely fiddling with a few stray curls. “Just feeling like a human stain because I don’t fucking deserve you, but otherwise very good. That was…damn. I’m just so fucking in love with you right now.”

Grantaire pushed up on his elbows and blinked at him a few times, trying to clear the lingering sex haze from his brain so he could think clearly. “Did you just say you loved me?”

“Well yeah.” And he didn’t look bothered in the least, so he wasn’t going to take that back. “Listen beautiful, I don’t do anything halfway. But I get that I’m an unstable basket case. If you don’t love me back just yet, that’s probably a good thing because it means at least one of us has some sense.”

Grantaire couldn’t help but smirk at that. “I am so lucky we stumbled together. Seriously, you’re like the only person I will never feel self-conscious around because of my issues.”

“Aw, we can be fucked up together.” Wes trailed his fingers up and down Grantaire’s back. They kissed lazily and sloppily for a few minutes, too blissed out for any kind of finesse or technique, but that was absolutely okay. It seemed to be one of the many things they were in synch over at the moment.

They still had the fingers of their right hands twined together when Wes’ eyelids started drooping. Grantaire pressed his ear to Wes’ chest, listening to his heartbeat and feeling safe and content in a way that was entirely new to him. He might be in danger of losing that shred of sense Wes had ascribed to him, because he felt pretty damn lovey right then.

Then Wes killed the mood with one last mumbled whisper before he drifted off to sleep. “M’sorry m’such a pussy, bright eyes, but your friends…your friends kinda scare me. N’til m’better around ‘em, can we jus’ avoid Enjolras for a while?”

Grantaire swallowed around a sudden lump in his throat, and for some stupid reason he agreed.

Fuck all if he knew why, but he agreed.

* * *

Combeferre couldn’t tell if Enjolras had actually finished his final projects, or if his attention was just so shot that he’d given up…a scenario he’d formerly thought of as an impossibility, but every now and then the boy surprised you like that. At any rate, Combeferre was having a difficult time finishing his own projects with his roommate pacing through the house, mumbling half formed sentences to himself, and occasionally kicking over a kitchen chair.

He poked his head out of his room to check on Enjolras and found him lying in the middle of the living room floor staring wide eyed at the ceiling. With a resigned sigh, Combeferre ventured further in the room and stood over him. “Enjolras? Are you okay?”

Enjolras swiveled his gaze towards Combeferre without otherwise moving. “No. Why, do I look it?”

“Well, no. I was just opening a conversation. Would you like me to help you up?”

“I’d rather you not. This is the most peaceful I’ve felt since we got back from the Musain.”

“Oh dear.” Combeferre sat down on the couch and rested his palms on his knees. “What happened when you followed Grantaire and Wes outside?”

“I…I apologized, just like you told me to. And, well…Grantaire seemed to accept it, but Wes…he wouldn’t even talk to me. Wouldn’t look at me. He just stalked off and then Grantaire started babbling and I came so close to telling him-”

“You _what_?” Combeferre gaped at him. “Enjolras, you cannot do that to Grantaire now.”

“Well why not?” Enjolras sat up and looked at his best friend with some defiance. “His boyfriend is an absolute waste. He’s clingy and possessive, and ignorant to boot. Plus he seems a bit unbalanced. I used to think I’d be terrible for Grantaire, but I’ve got to be better than _that_.”

“Enjolras, he’s happy. Grantaire, for possibly the first time since we’ve known him, for possibly the first time in his entire life is _happy_. And you don’t even know if you really want to be with him or if this is just the jealousy speaking.”

“Of course I want to be with him!”

“Oh, so you were going to ask him out and Wes just beat you to it?”

Enjolras deflated. “Well, no, but…but if he were single I’d ask him out in a heartbeat.” His voice turned uncharacteristically soft as his gaze dropped. “I’d offer him everything I could give him.”

Combeferre bracingly patted his shoulder. “I’m sorry, my friend. But I think if you were to tell him how you feel now you’d just distress him. He cared very deeply for you, but he cares for Wes as well. I don’t think he’s in the right kind of place to deal with that kind of conflict.”

“They’ve only been dating for a week.”

“And that makes it right to steal Wes’ boyfriend?”

Enjolras sighed. “I suppose not. Combeferre, what did you mean, that he cared deeply for me?”

Combeferre laughed without humor. “Of course. Now you’re asking me for my opinion about that. Enjolras, as far as any of us can tell, Grantaire has been head over heels for you since you first met. He’s been pining for you so nakedly and longingly that it was turning into a pretty awful fixation. You really didn’t see it, did you?”

Enjolras shook his head. “He says some weird things to me when he’s been drinking, but…that’s just Grantaire being a messy drunk, isn’t it?”

“He meant every flirtation he made towards you, and the nobler things he occasionally let slip as well. I’m sorry. It’s only going to hurt more, me making you aware of this, isn’t it?”

Enjolras pressed his lips together and closed his eyes. After a moment he shook his head. “No. I’m, I’m glad I know.” It hurt like fuck to know what he’d have been able to have if he’d only seen what was in front of him, but he was still better off knowing about the missed opportunity. “Grantaire doesn’t hate me then. I might be able to salvage our friendship, if nothing else. I should talk to him.”

“Now?” Combeferre asked, concerned.

Enjolras looked at the clock and took note of the time. “I suppose not right now…”

“Damn right not now. Sleep on it for one night, at the very least.” He was almost begging.

Enjolras smirked. “How long do you think I should wait?”

Combeferre shrugged. “A week? A week would probably help. Give Grantaire and Wes a chance to recover from tonight, give them a chance to be more comfortable hanging out with the rest of us, and give you a chance to sort out your thoughts.”

“I don’t think I’ll need a week for that.”

Combeferre snorted as he walked towards his room. “No, I don’t suppose you do.”

A night sounded good to Enjolras. Besides, he really was having a difficult time functioning with this hanging over him. Before he went to bed, he sent Grantaire a text asking if they could meet in the morning for coffee. He’d know what he wanted to say by morning.

* * *

Initially Grantaire felt guilty when he slunk out of Wes’ apartment to go see Enjolras. He was wearing his clothes from the night before after having brushed his teeth with Wes’ toothbrush and using Wes’ deodorant. He’d left his gorgeous boyfriend senseless to the world in bed, Wes' arms flopped uselessly out for him and a small smile on his pretty lips.

Wes was insecure about Enjolras. Grantaire could understand that. Hell, he had nothing but sympathy about it. He was made of sympathy when it came to insecurities and inferiority complexes, especially where Enjolras was concerned. Grantaire knew he needed to be careful.

But Enjolras was too important for Grantaire to just distance himself without even giving the guy an explanation…

So Grantaire stopped at the café around the corner from Enjolras and Combeferre’s building, got them coffees, and dutifully showed up on Enjolras’ doorstep in response to a nighttime text the gy might not even have remembered sending.

Enjolras answered the door, looking the most awkward mix between adorable and fuckable with his bedhead, bare feet, and low riding pajama pants paired with an oversized t-shirt. Grantaire was seized with conflicting urges to smooth down the wayward golden curls and mess them up worse, to see if that was even possible.

Oh god, but he wanted to wake up to that sight in the morning.

“’Taire?” Enjolras rubbed at his eye with his hand. His voice was husky. Hm. For once Grantaire was an earlier riser than mister-made-of-convictions.

“Hey. I slept over Wes’ last night and I still need to go home and change before my final so…so I figured it’d be easier if I brought the coffees to us.”

“Oh. Of course. Um, come inside.” Enjolras waved him in and closed the door behind him.

Grantaire kicked his shoes off, then set the tray of drinks on the coffee table and turned to Enjolras for some kind of cue. It didn’t look like he was going to get one though, as Enjolras was still more asleep than awake. With a fond smile, Grantaire took Enjolras’ coffee out of the tray and pressed the warm cup into his hand. Their fingers brushed together as he did so, and he tried in vain to ignore the excited tingle that ran through him at even the most minimal physical contact with his unrequited love. “Here. Black with two sugars.”

For some reason, Enjolras appeared dumbfounded that Grantaire knew his coffee order. Considering how much of their friendship was based around sitting in cafes or bars, and caffeine was the strongest stuff Enjolras drank, it really shouldn’t have been surprising that he’d picked up the boy’s order.

Then again, Grantaire drank with Joly and Bossuet at least once a week and Bahorel at least twice, and fuck all if he could remember their orders. Right, so this was another pining thing.

Enjolras took a few sips of the coffee, and when he started to wake up a bit he sat on the arm of the couch. “Thanks for coming over,” he murmured.

“No problem. Especially considering I get to be witness to the most epic bedhead in the history of ever.”

Enjolras absent mindedly patted at his hair. “Oh come on. This can’t be the worst you’ve ever seen.”

“Well, no, I suppose not. My own rat’s nest defies gravity pretty well. But it’s different when it’s you.”

“Is it?” Enjolras took another sip of the coffee, his attention fixed on the conversation with most of his normal functionality. The hot beverage was clearly taking effect, though how Grantaire was capturing his attention by rambling about bedhead was beyond him.

“Well sure. I mean, you’re the marble statue. You’re like some kind of god, and gods aren’t supposed to get silly looking bedhead. That’s for the flawed mortals, you see.”

“I’m not a god, Grantaire. I’m sufficiently flawed for full mortality, I assure you.”

“Oh, yes, well I suppose you have unreasonably high standards and you’re a bit obstinate. Not to mention the naïve idealism in the wake of enough world experience to teach you better. But still, overall those aren’t bad flaws to have. I’d trade.” Grantaire finally sat down on the floor and started fiddling with his own coffee.

“It’s more significant than that.” Enjolras let out a deep sigh and set his cup down.

“Oh? And what sin does the ever pure and stainless Enjolras think he might possess?” Grantaire teased.

“Jealousy,” Enjolras murmured. Grantaire thought he might have misheard him, but then he elaborated. “I’ve been out of my mind with jealousy since you started dating Wes-”

“But you don’t even like Wes!” Grantaire interrupted, flabbergasted. “How can you be jealous of me dating Wes? I mean, I know the guy’s fucking gorgeous, and spectacular in the sack, not that you’d know that, but it takes more than physical attraction and fantastic loving to make a relationship, Enjolras.”

“Grantaire, stop. I’m not jealous that you’re dating Wes. I’m jealous that Wes is dating _you_.”

“O-oh.” Grantaire’s brow furrowed and he shook his head. “No, that’s not right.”

“I assure you, it is most definitely the case.” Enjolras fixed Grantaire with his unwavering, steely focused gaze. The adorable bedhead only went so far in counteracting its effects, and Grantaire found himself feeling cowed.

“But…no.” His shitty self-esteem couldn’t help but resist. “I heard you. You were talking to ‘Ferre, and you said that you had less than no interest in me. That if I was the last possible option for a partner you’d prefer celibacy, and that I was a mess and you said you’d only make me worse. You said…you said everything about even the idea of dating me was screwed up.”

“You heard that?” Enjolras looked suddenly pale. “Oh, ‘Taire…oh no wonder. I had no idea…look…Combeferre noticed my feelings for you before I even did. Before you met Wes, he was trying to goad me into asking you out and I rather overreached in my arguments whenever he cornered me.”

“But, y’know, it’s still true. The part about you not wanting me.”

Enjolras winced. “I didn’t want to date you because I was frightened. We fight so much, and I always end up hurting you without meaning to, and you’ve been so fragile lately. I didn’t trust myself enough to even try for your heart. I’m so harsh. And you’re the last person I want to hurt.”

Grantaire felt suddenly dizzy. “Why are you telling me this? Enjolras? Why the fuck are you telling me this now? Do you think I want to know this now, when I’m finally starting to get over you after pining for you hopelessly for three god damn years? Do you think I need this when I’m trying to make a relationship work with someone who appreciated me from the get-go? Someone who’s always been willing to say he cares about me, and not just when he felt threatened by someone else?” Grantaire angrily shot to his feet. “What the fuck is wrong with you? What-what am I even supposed to do with this? What are you trying to do to me?”

“Grantaire, I’m sorry. Let me start over, okay? I swear, it wasn’t completely selfish when I rehearsed this last night. Please don’t go yet.” Enjolras went after him and touched his upper arm, accidentally grabbing at the tender spot Wes had left the night before. Grantaire let out a hiss of pain at the unexpected contact, and Enjolras pulled his hand away like he’d been burned. “Sorry. I’m sorry. Are you okay? Is there something wrong with your arm?”

“Stop. Enjolras, stop.” Grantaire took a deep breath. It did shit to calm him down. “What else do you have to say?”

“Just that…that if I’m a little weird around you and Wes, I don’t mean to be.” Enjolras let out a trembling gasp of a breath. “I know I’m in the wrong. It was foolish of me to wait and to think…to think you would too. But it still hurts more than I expected seeing you together. I need your friendship though, Grantaire. If it’s all I have left of your affections then I’ll make the most of it. Just, while I’m adjusting, while I’m working on being happy for you…well, it’ll take time. And until I get there I’m probably going to be unbearable. I’m…I’m sorry for upsetting you.”

“I had something to tell you too,” Grantaire said, because he couldn’t focus on that speech just yet. That was going to take some time to process, and those words needed to be dulled with a flood of alcohol so they couldn’t tear at him and rend his heart any further.

“What is it?” Enjolras whispered, and damn him, he looked hopeful in that same stupid, clinging way Grantaire used to look whenever he’d managed to capture Enjolras’ attention in the pre-Wes days. He had no right to look like that, not when they might have been something.

“Enj…you make Wes really uncomfortable. Like, spectacularly. Apparently we’ve got inferiority and self-esteem issues in common. Anyway, he, um, he asked if we could see a little less of you until he sorted some shit out.”

“And you agreed?”

“Well considering the first thing you did when you got me alone was declare your really poorly timed love for me, the guy has a bit of a point, doesn’t he?”

Enjolras looked pained. “I’m not trying to steal you from him.”

“Oh?” Grantaire crowded Enjolras’ personal space. Despite the transparency of his actions, when he touched Enjolras’ jaw and guided his face up, bringing their lips within a breath of the others’, Enjolras’ eyes involuntarily fluttered shut and he leaned in.

Damn him and his timing.

Grantaire pulled away from him just before their lips touched, a scowl on his face. “Yeah, you’re not trying to steal me or anything, but you know, you’re just making it as clear as fucking day that if I happened to change my mind you are on call to jump my bones. Because that’s noble. That’s a perfectly fucking decent way to treat Wes. Jesus Christ, Enjolras. No wonder he doesn’t want to be near you.”

Enjolras hugged his arms. “I’m sorry. I have no idea what I’m doing. I thought…I thought it was better to be honest.”

“Well you were fucking wrong.”

Grantaire slammed the door shut behind him, hard enough to rouse Combeferre from what had been a dead sleep. When Combeferre stumbled out to the living room to investigate he was surprised to find Enjolras once more in the middle of the floor, this time hugging his arms as he rocked back and forth with tears sliding down his cheeks.

Combeferre had never seen Enjolras cry before. He wasn’t sure _anyone_ had ever seen Enjolras cry before.

The last thing he noticed before scooping his friend into his arms and letting him sob brokenly into his shoulder was the presence of the coffee cups on the table. Trying to make it as little of an ‘I told you so’ as possible, Combeferre shook his head. “I advised you to wait a week with reason, Enjolras.”

“I know…but I don’t know what I’m doing and now I don’t even have his friendship. He doesn’t want to see me anymore, ‘Ferre. He’s not even my friend…”

Combeferre sat Enjolras on the couch and spoke in a low, soothing murmur until he started to calm down some. “It’s alright, Enjolras. We’ll fix it somehow. Grantaire cares too much for you to stay away that long.”

“But he said…”

“He’s not as stubborn as you are, my friend. He’ll think on your fight, and he’ll reason, and he’ll initiate a truce eventually. Just be patient, and for the love of God please listen to my advice this time. I swear, I’m trying to help you.”

Enjolras seemed to be coming back to himself. At any rate, he wasn’t crying anymore and his posture had improved. He wiped at his face with one finely boned hand, and if the look of loss wasn’t still lingering on his features Combeferre might have thought the storm of emotion was already starting to pass.

“Thank you,” Enjolras murmured. “You’ve been right about everything so far. You were right about my feelings for Grantaire, you were right about his feelings for me, and you were most certainly right about me alienating Wes. I’ll treat your observations with the respect they deserve from here on out.”

“Thank you,” Combeferre said, feeling like he was finally starting to get somewhere.

“It seems like a wise goal to try to get over Grantaire, romantically at least, since he’s picked Wes.”

“Yes, that’s probably for the best.”

Enjolras nodded. “Alright. I think I’ll give Courfeyrac a call.”

Combeferre quirked an eyebrow. “Courfeyrac?”

“Yes. He knows how to meet people. I’ll call him after my lit final today and make plans with him. I’m sure he can help me find a romantic partner. I’ll be over my upset feelings for Grantaire before the week is through, and then we can be friends again.”

Combeferre was going to _shake_ him. He was going to shake the idiot so damn hard.

Enjolras _had_ to be doing it on purpose. There was no other explanation.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras fails at getting over Grantaire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit more lighthearted than the angst I've been throwing your way. I'm still not quite sure where the story's going though, so I think this is my muse giving us breathing room before something big. As usual, feedback is greatly appreciated.

Courfeyrac, it turned out, did not share any of Combeferre’s misgivings about taking Enjolras out to pick up guys. In fact, he thought it was a fabulous idea. The best way to nurse a broken heart was in a warm bed, or so the often worryingly promiscuous man said. His enthusiasm served to make Enjolras all the more stubborn about his plan, his awful, _awful_ plan, so Combeferre decided his only remaining option was to tag along and keep an eye on the idiots.

Enjolras and Combeferre had their last finals of the semester Friday evening. They met up on campus and walked back to their apartment together afterwards. Rather than snap at each other about the impending night out, they ignored it entirely and talked about their expected grades. Enjolras was confident he’d aced everything while Combeferre was reasonably confident he'd done well, but was harboring some doubts and anxieties until his grades were posted on the school website.

Enjolras went right for his room as soon as they got home, no doubt getting ready. Sighing, Combeferre sat down on the couch with a book to wait.

He didn’t have to wait long. Enjolras emerged about twenty minutes later wearing darker jeans and a slightly tighter fitting red t-shirt than the one he’d worn to school. He sat down with a book of his own, but looked up at Combeferre’s amused snort. “What?”

“Sorry. I just find your attempt at primping amusing.”

Enjolras frowned. “How is it amusing? Did I do something wrong?”

“Of course not. You just…never mind.”

Enjolras set his book down and stalked off to the bathroom to double check his appearance in the mirror. He looked irritated when he returned. “I look fine.”

“Yes, Enjolras. You look _exactly the same as you always do_ ,” Combeferre said, still grinning.

Enjolras still didn’t seem to get it, but he let it go. He returned to his book, and the two sat in a companionable silence until Courfeyrac’s arrival.

“Hey guys.” Courfeyrac flopped onto the couch as soon as Enjolras let him in, draping his legs over Combeferre’s lap. Combeferre closed his book and nudged the offending feet with it. He knew from experience, though, that Courfeyrac wasn’t going to move unless Combeferre moved him. Rather than damage the spine of his book with further nudging, he resigned himself to the feet until the kid’s attention was diverted elsewhere.

“So where did you want to go?” Courfeyrac asked.

Enjolras frowned. “I’m not really sure. I figured you’d have ideas.”

“Oh, of course I have ideas. This is my scene. This is what I _do_. But what did you have in mind? Bar hopping, clubbing, something more organized, something a little more out there? I mean seriously, you can pick up guys anywhere. We could go bowling. Hell, I bet I could find you a guy at a Chuck E. Cheese. That actually sounds kind of fun…”

“I’m not going to Chuck E. Cheese,” Enjolras nearly yelped, followed by a thankful mutter from Combeferre. “Can’t we just go to a bar?”

“Okay. Uh…gay bar?”

“I suppose that makes the most sense,” Enjolras said, looking pretty annoyed for someone who didn’t have sweaty sock feat under their nose.

“So you are gay then?” Courfeyrac prodded. “Like not into girls at all? Not even a little?” Enjolras nodded, and Courfeyrac sighed. “Kay. I mean, I figured, but still. If you were into girls then we wouldn’t need to go anywhere at all. I’ve already got a short list of acquaintances who asked me to talk you up to them.”

“Really?”

“I’ve had six girls ask me about you,” Combeferre said.

Courfeyrac finally sat up, eyeing his friend with some amusement. “You’ve been my accidental wingman so many fucking times at Musain and Corinth, dude. Even at protests. Chicks realize we’re friends and then they start talking to me in hopes of getting through to you despite the ice façade, and then before they know it they’re meeting me for coffee to be followed by amorous conquest.”

Enjolras was visibly unsettled by Courfeyrac’s announcement. Combeferre had to make an effort not to laugh at his scandalized expression, but Courfeyrac gleefully cackled while snapping a quick picture with his phone. “Oh, that is too good! I’m putting that on facebook!”

Enjolras pinched the bridge of his nose. “I suppose I know better than to try to stop you at this point. Just don’t tag me.”

“I’ll show you mercy this time. So okay, we’re going to a gay bar. Is that cool for you, ‘Ferre?”

Combeferre shrugged. “You don’t really need to take me into consideration. I’m not going to meet people.”

“Well you might meet someone by accident.”

He shook his head. “No, that’s...Really, I’m just…tagging along.”

Enjolras scowled. “For the last time, ‘Ferre. You’re perfectly welcome to come with us, of course, but I don’t require a chaperone.”

“He’s got me,” Courfeyrac said with a pout.

Combeferre and Enjolras both gave him skeptical looks, then continued talking as though he hadn’t said anything.

“Look, you’ve said yourself that you’re out of your depth with this. You’ve never really dated anyone. I just want to be nearby in case you need any advice. You know I respect you, Enjolras, but I am a bit worried that you might unintentionally make a poor choice.”

Enjolras still looked a bit huffy, but he finally nodded. “Fine. I’ll consult you if needed. Can we get going now?”

“Of course.” Courfeyrac bounced off the couch and started for the door. “Guys, this is going to be an awesome night. I can just feel it. Our little Enjy’s finally becoming a man!”

Courfeyrac was wincing and rubbing at his arm once more when they left the apartment building.

* * *

It was pretty obvious that Grantaire had a type. Even before he’d started dating Wes, he’d gravitated towards slightly effeminate, young looking blonds. He seemed to go nuts if said effeminate, youthful blonds carried themselves with conviction and assertiveness. If they possessed steely glares, he was just _gone_.

It appeared Enjolras had a type as well. Well, either that or he just wasn’t trying as hard as he could have to get over Grantaire.

Combeferre had been sitting in a booth nursing a drink for a little over an hour, and in that time he’d only seen Enjolras approach scruffy, artsy looking brunettes. He’d been approached by one ginger, a light haired brunette, and even a reasonably artsy kid with blue hair, and he hadn’t given any of them the time of day. At the moment he was chatting up a college kid in ripped skinny jeans and a Star Wars t-shirt that could have been Grantaire’s twin.

Courfeyrac slid into the booth across from Combeferre, wearing a proud smirk. “How good is this going? Seriously, have you ever seen Enjolras loosen up like this before? I don’t know what’s come over him lately, but whatever it is I support it.”

Combeferre’s eyebrows shot up. He shook his head in amazement and took a sip of his drink.

“What?” Courfeyrac asked.

“You seriously don’t know what’s gotten into him?”

He smirked. “Well, I’ve got some idea. But c’mon…it’s his own damn fault he missed out. Grantaire gave him ample opportunity and Enjolras was too stubborn to admit what he wanted. At least this way he’s not just stewing in his jealousy.”

“To be fair, Grantaire never actually told Enjolras he was interested in him-”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Combeferre shook his head. “He didn’t say it in a manner that Enjolras would _believe_.”

“Fair enough.” Courfeyrac considered for a moment, drumming his fingers against the tabletop before rendering his judgment. “They’re both fucking idiots. I’d rather they were dating each other though. I don’t like Wes.”

Combeferre gave a non-committal shrug. He still thought it was too early to have a strong opinion about the guy, however...Wes gave off a strong enough impression that he was having a hard time keeping his neutrality. The temptation to form snap judgments of his character was pretty strong.

He gave a glance towards Enjolras, who was still chatting up the Grantaire doppelganger. “I don’t like the fact that Enjolras is only considering potential partners who remind him of Grantaire. This isn’t healthy, Courfeyrac.”

“No, it’s not. But did you really think anything was going to be easy with the two of them?” Courfeyrac leaned back and draped his arm over the edge of the seat. “I’ve got a prediction. I think Enj and ‘Taire will be dating this time next month.”

Combeferre shook his head in disbelief. “Courfeyrac, Grantaire knows Enjolras has feelings for him. The idiot told him the other day and Grantaire lost it on him. They’re not even speaking.”

“Hmm…maybe two months then.”

“Courfeyrac-”

“Combeferre, please.” Courfeyrac leaned forward, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. “You know as well as I do that those two boys are disgustingly into each other. They’ve been mutually pining for ages now, and Wes is just a speed bump. R’s confused, and probably freaking out about Enjolras liking him back, and he’s probably trying to convince himself that he deserves a possessive, psychotic boyfriend. He probably thinks he owes it to Wes to stick with him since the guy got there first. But eventually he’s going to give in and he’s going to pick the love of his life. Six months at the absolute most, but I really don’t think it’s going to take that long.”

Combeferre tapped his fingers against his glass, still far from convinced. Then he snapped his head towards Courfeyrac, scrunching his face up in confusion. “Wait, why did you call Wes a possessive psychopath?”

“Just some little observations I’ve made.” Courfeyrac bit at his lower lip. “I’m starting to get worried, actually. I mean, the going on silent to us thing was unsettling. He’s spending like ridiculous amounts of time with Wes, and he’s making all these little changes to suit him. And did you notice the way Wes always has a hand on him somehow? He stares people down for looking at Grantaire too long too. It’s weird. And the food thing. Don’t get me started on the fucking food thing.”

“I thought that was odd too. I don’t know though…Wes is kind of a weird person overall. The behavior isn’t necessarily harmful.”

“Oh I know. That’s the only reason I haven’t broken his smarmy fucking face.” Courfeyrac cheerfully mock-toasted Combeferre with his drink. “If I had any proof that he was hurting Grantaire, I’d be paying him a visit with Bahorel, Feuilly, Bossuet, and ‘Chetta.”

“’Chetta?” Somehow, Combeferre had expected another Ami to round out the posse. Though when he stopped to think about it, Musichetta could be damned scary when she wanted to. Something about those fortune teller eyes of hers…

Courfeyrac was clearly about to explain the reasoning behind his ideal attack-posse, but they were interrupted by an attractive ginger kid approaching their table. He was sporting a fedora, a waistcoat, and an actual functioning pocket watch, among other eccentric pieces of attire. Combeferre found himself looking the guy over with approval.

“Excuse me, but are you two here together?” Even his voice was suave and vaguely alluring.

Courfeyrac flashed one of his more charming smiles and shifted forward, ready to get up and pounce on the guy from the looks of it. “No, luckily enough for you we’re just friends. My name’s-”

“Oh, good.” The ginger turned away from Courfeyrac and slid into the booth next to Combeferre. “Hey, I’m Drew. I saw you reading Hawthorne earlier and it made me want to buy you a drink.”

Combeferre stared at the hopeful looking stranger in some surprise, while Courfeyrac gaped at him, clearly tempted to verbally castigate  Combeferre for reading in a bar. Combeferre only started making the effort to say something in reply  to his admirer when he realized that his mouth was hanging open. It didn’t help at all that Courfeyrac looked like he was going to bust a gut laughing. Somehow Drew wasn’t deterred.

“Um, that’s…actually, I really would love to discuss literature with you, but I should let you know that I’m actually only here to keep an eye on my friend. I’m...” He was going to say straight, but somehow Combeferre wasn’t as sure of that as he’d been before setting eyes on the lovely looking stranger.

“Oh.” Drew shrugged. “Well if you’re a lit nerd and you want to discuss, I’ll still buy you that drink.”

“If that works for you, then it’s fine for me. So how much Hawthorne have you read? I’ve only finished the Scarlet Letter so far. I’m halfway through House of the Seven Gables though.”

“I _love_ the Gables! I’m a tour guide there. Like, at the actual house Hawthorne wrote about.”

The two of them were gone from there. Feeling abandoned, Courfeyrac slunk off to check on Enjolras. He got the feeling Combeferre might forget about his duties while he was nerding out with his pretty redhead.

Enjolras and the Grantaire doppelganger appeared to have moved on. Or at least, they weren’t standing by the bar anymore. Courfeyrac took a quick stroll around the room and found the look alike talking up the blue haired kid Enjolras had shot down earlier. Starting to feel uneasy, Courfeyrac put a bit more energy into locating the distinctive mop of golden curls.

He gave up after a few more walks around the room and went outside for the relative quiet so he could give Enjolras a call. Getting his phone out proved unnecessary; Enjolras was sitting on the curb in front of the bar shivering, his head in his hands.

Courfeyrac sat down next to him and patted his shoulder. “How’re you doing, Enj?”

He sat up a little and rubbed at his face, expression mournful and a little pathetic. “I…I’m okay, I guess.”

“What are you doing out here? I thought you were getting along with that last guy.”

“I was, but then…we were chatting and he just agreed with everything I said. Like, _everything_. He didn’t have any opinions of his own, so after a little while I started contradicting myself just to check.” Enjolras briefly wore a look of disgust, but it was broken when his lip started trembling. “I miss Grantaire. I haven’t argued with him about social issues in weeks. He didn’t say things just to get in my pants.”

“He certainly didn’t say anything successfully, anyway,” Courfeyrac corrected. His attempt at gentle teasing didn’t work. Enjolras went back to slumping over with his face hidden. “Uh…did you want to go?” The golden curls bobbed a little as he nodded, not otherwise changing his position. “Kay. Head over to the car then. I’ll go inside and tell ‘Ferre he was right about this being a shit idea.”

“You don’t have to tell him he’s right, do you?”

Courfeyrac laughed. “Come on, dude. He’s smarter than both of us. He’s going to know no matter what. Besides…it’s not like he’s going to do an ‘I told you so’ dance when he realizes you’re upset.”

“Grantaire would do an ‘I told you so’ dance.”

“Enjolras, have you been drinking?” Courfeyrac asked, caught off guard. He’d never seen Enjolras drunk before, thus having missed a few cues that could have led him to this conclusion already. Enjolras’ lower lip was still trembling and he looked like he might actually start crying.

“I’m not drunk,” he pouted. “But…a few of the guys wanted to buy me drinks and it seemed rude to refuse such a standard courtship practice.”

“Okay, I’ll walk you to the car and then I’ll go get Combeferre.”

“Courfeyrac, I’m _not_ drunk.”

“Fine, you’re not drunk. Now let me see your arm. Here we go, upward momentum.” Courfeyrac helped Enjolras struggle to his feet, and managed not to tease him about the way he was swaying and weaving as he walked. He got Enjolras safely to the backseat of his car, then went into the bar to find Combeferre.

To his pleased surprise, Combeferre and Drew were still sitting together at the booth. They’d covered the table with vintage books (he couldn't tell if they were Drew's, as it wouldn't be out of character for Combeferre to just magic dusty old tomes out of nowhere). The both of them were eagerly leaning over a gigantic one with age-yellowed pages. They were pressed up against each other while they read and chatted, Drew’s arm casually wrapped around Combeferre, fingers tracing idle patterns along his back.

It was torture to interrupt a scene that cute, but alas, it had to be done.

“Wow, you have the weirdest bar etiquette I’ve ever seen. Cheers for finding the only other guy who’d be into this though.”

Drew looked up, momentarily confused, but then he laughed at himself. “Welcome back. Did you want to join in on the nerding out or did you need to steal Combeferre back?”

Combeferre looked less than pleased at the latter prospect.

“It’s up to you.” Courfeyrac turned his attention to his friend. “Enj isn’t doing so well. I’m going to take him home. Did you want to come with or are you good finding your own way back?”

“Is he okay?” Combeferre asked. Courfeyrac rushed to calm his worries.

“It’s nothing I can’t handle. Stay here. Flirt away…if that’s what this really is. Seriously, the night is young and you guys should enjoy it.”

Combeferre looked conflicted. He cast a glance at the tempting books, then another at his equally tempting companion, and then he started to get up. “I really should-”

Courfeyrac pushed him back down with a firm hand on each shoulder. “Stay and get to know Drew a bit better, I fully concur. Just keep your phone on. We’ll call you if we need help.”

“If you need to go help your friend…” And now Drew looked concerned. Courfeyrac should have texted Combeferre after he’d left. Ah well. At least Combeferre’s new friend appeared to be remarkably superior to Wes. It’d be nice to have a budding relationship in their clique he could get excited about.

“He doesn’t need to go help our friend. _I_ will help our friend, a task for which you will most likely owe me big,” Courfeyrac said, heaving a long suffering sigh as a theatrical effect. Combeferre eyed him warily, but he ultimately stayed at the table with the books and the quirky ginger.

Courfeyrac took his leave, feeling some amusement that of the three of them, _Combeferre_ was the one to find company.

* * *

Courfeyrac safely saw Enjolras home, which he did honestly appreciate. But when the guy tried to follow him upstairs so they could talk about _feelings_ he nearly panicked. “I’m okay,” Enjolras insisted.

“Dude, no you’re not,” Courfeyrac said. “And it’s okay…I’m your friend. You can take the wall down in front of me. I swear I won’t think any less of you for having your heart bruised. I figured out you were a real live human being just like the rest of us kind of a while ago now.”

Enjolras fumbled with his keys, trying to get his uncooperative hands to get a grip on just the apartment key and not any of the others. “I appreciate the offer, but I really need a break from this. I think I’m going to take a shower and go to bed.”

“You sure you’re okay?” Courfeyrac asked, voice uncharacteristically soft. It was rare to see him dispense with his sarcasm and bravado.

He’d later blame it on the drinks he’d shared with the men at the bar, but at the moment Enjolras was overcome with gratitude for his friend’s affection. He grabbed Courfeyrac’s hand and placed a kiss on his knuckles. “I’m not okay yet, but I will be. Thanks for trying.”

“Y-you’re welcome? Uh…I think your plan was for the best. You might need to sleep it off.” Courfeyrac stared at the back of his hand like he’d never seen it before. He was still puzzling over it when Enjolras finally located the right key and climbed out of the car.

The shower cleared his head a little. Enjolras' inhibitions were still a little weaker than their normal iron clad strength when he curled into bed in a pair of university sweatpants and one of Combeferre’s t-shirts.

He snatched his phone off his nightstand and sent Grantaire a text. _Icant do it miss you already. Talk too me pleas?_

He regretted sending it almost immediately. It was so god damned needy, and he wasn’t drunk but he wasn’t exactly sober either, so he damn well shouldn’t have been initiating contact after a pretty significant fight. Grantaire barely wanted anything to do with him; it was going to be a definitive nothing if Enjolras carried on this way…

Fuck, but their roles had gotten reversed at some point. Enjolras was most definitely _not_ a fan of being the drunk-texter.

He set his phone aside, hugged a pillow to his chest, and tried to think of something more acceptable to dwell on. He didn’t have school to distract him anymore, but there’d been some activity on the March Against Monsanto facebook page the other day. He could see about getting more involved with that…do some research on big business farming…

The more he tried to force coherent thought from his sleepy, muddled brain, the heavier his eyelids felt. Enjolras drifted off to sleep before he got the answering text from Grantaire.

_Actually I really need to talk about something. If it’s not too weird, can I come over?_

He didn’t get the text until the following morning. To Enjolras’ consternation, Grantaire didn’t respond when he texted him and he didn’t pick up any of his calls.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kalevalaSage, on the off-chance you're reading this, Combeferre's accidental nerd-date with Drew was partially written with you in mind <3
> 
> Seriously, I've been meaning to write me some slashy 'Ferre smut, but it just hasn't happened yet.


	6. Chapter 6

Grantaire probably should have just skipped that last final. He'd likely have gotten the same grade either way, and at least he might have had a chance to go home and sort his head out before bumping into Wes again.

He was still in a daze, thoughts firmly on Enjolras with little chance of being diverted from that stubborn course, when he left the English department. Wes was waiting for him on the steps out front. He looked just as beautiful as ever, but there was an edge to the smile he greeted Grantaire with that he didn't like. Something dangerous that he couldn't put his finger on.

"Hey, bright eyes. How come you were already gone when I woke up this morning?"

"I had to swing by my place before the final," Grantaire lied.

Wes looked him over, no doubt taking in the fact that Grantare was wearing the same outfit he'd worn the day before. "Ya-huh. Well, anyway, congrats on finishing the semester out. Did you kill it on that final?"

"Sure."

He wearily trudged after Wes, mentally and emotionally worn out and longing for his bed and some privacy. On most days, having Wes almost literally smothering him with affection would have been a comfort when he was feeling so off-center (or so he was telling himself), but at the moment all he wanted to do was hide. Still, he climbed into the passenger side of Wes' car and slumped down in the seat.

"Grantaire?" Wes sounded concerned. "Is everything okay? I mean, did that final just take more out of you than you expected, or is something actually the matter?"

"I'm not feeling that great. Could you just bring me home? I should probably take some aspirin and take a nap or something."

Wes leaned over and touched Grantaire's forehead. "You're not warm, and you don't look sick. You just look miserable. Whatever it is, you can talk to me."

"Can I talk to you after a nap?"

Wes scowled. "Fine, if you want to be stubborn about it."

Grantaire rested his head against the window and let his eyes fall shut. Between his late night with Wes and then dashing out of the house super early for that emotional confrontation with Enjolras, he was wiped. He mumbled some kind of vague thank you to Wes, glad his boyfriend was respecting his need for privacy even if he did sound kind of bitchy about it. He nearly nodded off for the duration of the drive, and barely listened as Wes chattered at him.

Then the car stopped too soon, and Grantaire realized that Wes hadn't driven him to his place like he'd wanted. They were parked outside of Wes' building. Grantaire rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hand. "I thought you were giving me a ride home."

"Is there a reason you can't have your nap in my apartment?" Wes asked.

Grantaire frowned. "I kinda wanted to be alone for a little while."

Wes narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

"Wes, we've been joined at the hip for like two weeks now. I've actually got some pretty reclusive tendencies. If you don't give me at least a little time to myself every now and then, I'm going to snap."

"You took plenty of time to yourself when you left this morning without waking me up to say goodbye. Seriously, Grantaire, what am I supposed to think about that?" Wes took off his seat belt and opened the car door. "You can walk home if you really want to avoid me that badly. If you want your nap, my bed is open." He slammed the car door shut behind him and started power walking towards his building.

"Fucking hell," Grantaire mumbled, and hurried to follow after him. The guy was clearly still smarting about the whole Enjolras thing, which would only get infinitely worse if he realized that Grantaire had snuck out to see Enjolras one last time before severing ties.

God, if Wes ever found out that Enjolras actually did like him back...

Grantaire pushed that terrifying thought out of his mind and bounded up the stairs as fast as his tired body would let him. He just managed to squeeze into the apartment before Wes shut the door. "Hey." He tried to smile for the guy, but it was hard when Wes looked so short tempered.

"Too tired to walk home, huh?"

"Well yeah. Plus you seemed more upset than I realized. I'm sorry I pissed you off. I thought you'd rather sleep. In future, I will always wake you up if I need to sneak out first. We good?"

"I suppose. You're lucky you're pretty."

Grantaire couldn't help but laugh at that. "No, I'm lucky you've got no sense of aesthetics. Wes, I didn't mean to piss you off. I was trying to be thoughtful." Except for the part where he was secretly meeting up with an unknown rival. Shit, the guilt Grantaire felt over that was going to drive him fucking insane. He really wanted to just tell Wes about his meetup with Enjolras, but he knew the guy would go nuclear on him.

A nagging little voice in the back of Grantaire's mind told him that he'd be better off with a boyfriend secure enough not to lose his shit over Grantaire talking to one of his friends. Grantaire drowned that voice out with reminders of how many chances he'd given Enjolras to make his feelings known. Wes hadn't spent years convincing Grantaire he'd never care for him, or that he wasn't worth being cared about. Wes had fallen for him after one fucking conversation, and he didn't care that Grantaire wasn't some perfect, shining activist. He loved him, obnoxious cynicism and all.

"You kinda fucked up at the thoughtful part," Wes said, though he didn't look angry anymore. "I can see where you're coming from though. Sorry for being all pissy about it. C'mon, bright eyes. You look dead on your feet. Let's get you back into bed."

Grantaire followed Wes into his bedroom, then stripped down to his boxers and a t-shirt. Wes pulled the blanket up over him, then sat on the edge of the bed and carded his fingers through Grantaire's hair, an intense sort of smile on his face while he watched him snuggle into the pillow that smelled like his amazing, if slightly psycho, boyfriend. Grantaire was starting to feel warm and content, the anxiety of the morning fading to a manageable dullness as he persuaded himself that he'd made the right choice...though he couldn't remember the exact point when it had become a matter of choice.

Then Wes leaned in next to him and whispered in his ear. "I still want to know what you're hiding from me, beautiful. I'll find out when you wake up, okay?" Wes kissed his temple, then left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

Grantaire's eyes remained open, staring blankly at the wall in front of him. He had no clue what the fuck he was supposed to say, or how he was ever going to fall asleep now.

* * *

Eventually Grantaire did manage to fall asleep, and he got in a restless five or six hours before he was woken by the sound of raised voices from the next room. Even if Wes' apartment hadn't been as shitty as his, with walls that were just as thin, he'd still have been roused from that level of noise. Grantaire staggered out of bed with Wes' blanket still wrapped around his shoulders, feeling sluggish and cranky, and ventured into the next room.

He winced at the light and increased volume that came with opening the bedroom door. To his unpleasant surprise, Wes had filled his apartment with obnoxious looking, sketchy people. Grantaire didn't recognize any of them, but there were three guys and two girls lounging around the room, each with one of Wes' mason jars he used as cups in their hands. His coffee table had been turned into an impromptu bar, with his guests filling their mason jars almost at random from the bottles of liquor present. It was possible they'd been playing a drinking game at one point, though the deck of cards on the table seemed long forgotten. What was most likely intended as background noise in the form of an I-Pod and speakers had become an excuse for people sitting right next to each other to yell across the room.

Grantaire seriously considered going back into the bedroom and shutting the door on all that nonsense.

"Hey, bright eyes, you're up!" Wes climbed to his feet and started across the room. "Guys, this is my new boy." He slung an arm around Grantaire, like he was showing him off. "Babe, these are _my_ friends."

Grantaire felt like scowling, but he held himself in check. Really, he hadn't done much better by springing all his friends on Wes at the Musain the way he had. But at least Wes hadn't been feeling like crap when he'd done it. Grantaire turned to face the strangers in the room and inclined his head in a slight nod. "Hey."

The girl with the darker hair raised her mason jar at him. "Hey yourself. I'm Eponine. Now, do you make it a habit to walk around without pants? Because if you do, I already like you way more than Wes' last piece of shit."

That comment elicited a mixture of 'ooooohs' and hisses from the group of friends. Grantaire tugged the blanket more firmly around him, realizing that he was only in his underpants. He felt another stab of annoyance towards his boyfriend; Wes had met all his friends for the first time fully clothed and presentable looking.

"Personally, I think Wes' 'last piece of shit' was completely out of his league. That was the real reason it didn't work out, or so you said the other night, Ponine." The speaker took a smug sip from his mason jar, dark eyes fixed resentfully on Eponine. Something about the guy reminded Grantiare sharply of Wes. It wasn't physical resemblance; other than both being remarkably good looking, they didn't look alike at all. This guy had much nicer hair, thick and dark with a natural wave that leant itself to charming cascades. He was on the skinny side as well, but he wasn't hard angles and sharp lines like Wes. This guy was almost feminine looking, though not at all delicate. His eyes were just as hard as Wes', with the same capacity for cruelty, only these were dark hued while Wes' were pale green.

Eponine smacked the kid on the arm. "Look, you being out of Wes' league doesn't make you _not_ a piece of shit. You're both pieces of shit, and so am I for that matter."

"So are all of us," a tough looking ginger said before raising his mason jar in what was taken to be a toast. They all yelled and drained their glasses.

The urge to flee increased exponentially. Grantaire actually might have, if Wes hadn't clamped the arm he had around him even tighter.

"Ah yes, so Grantaire...that's my ex, Montparnasse. We're still friends, but no need to feel any jealousy. He's with Eponine now. That's Eponine's sister, Azelma. And that's Brujon, Babet, and Claquesous."

Grantaire jumped. He hadn't even seen the skinny fucker lurking in the corner until he'd been pointed out.

The group all made lackluster acknowledgment of Grantaire's presence. Some of them nodded, a few of them grunted, and then they generally went back to what they'd been doing, which seemed to consist of drinking heavily, swearing loudly, and generally giving Wes' neighbors good reason to complain to his landlord. Grantaire edged into the other room, snagged his pants, and then crept back into the living room.

He'd hoped to sneak out the door, but Wes saw him and called him over. Reluctantly, Grantaire switched directions and went to join his boyfriend on the couch. He was pulled down onto Wes' lap and once again had those skinny but incredibly strong arms holding him in place.

"Hey, Wes, should I mix something for your boy?" Azelma asked. She went to grab a mason jar, but Wes shook his head.

"Nah, we're pretty sure Grantaire should be cutting back on his drinking."

Grantaire quirked an eyebrow. " _We_ are?"

Wes frowned. "Um...you say it all the time."

"Well, yeah, in a general kind of way. Kind of like how people say they should start going to the gym, or that they shouldn't eat that extra donut or whatever. It doesn't mean I'm actually going to."

"Well you probably should. The shit's not good for you, and you're all bashful about your beer gut."

Grantaire did his best to squirm out of Wes' lap, but the guy had a grip like steel. "I fucking told you not to talk about the beer gut," Grantaire mumbled.

Eponine's face was scrunched up in confusion. "What beer gut? Your guy's built like a stick. Just like you, you skinny fuck."

"Naw, Grantaire's mostly skinny, but he's got this cute little pudge on his stomach. I should stop talking about it though. He doesn't like when I do that."

" _He_ is right here, so can you fucking lay off about it? And let go of me," Grantaire snapped. If anything, Wes squeezed harder, and then nuzzled against his neck. His breath was warm, sticky, and stank of booze. Grantaire realized that he'd never seen his boyfriend drunk before. Apparently he somehow managed to get clingier while being outright obnoxious.

"But babe, you're perfect right where you are. Now shut up and enjoy the snuggles." Then Wes snaked his hands under Grantaire's t-shirt and flipped it up. Grantaire let out an embarrassingly high pitched yelp and struggled to tug the fabric back down. "See, Ponine? His stomach's fucking adorable. Don't know why he's self-conscious about it."

Eponine actually looked a little self-conscious on Grantaire's behalf. At the very least, she had the decency to loudly introduce a new conversation topic. They spent the next twenty minutes or so talking about how her father and one of their mutual acquaintances, a guy named Gueulemer, had just been imprisoned for some minor drug shit on top of a parole violation and driving on a suspended license. Grantaire was only half listening, as he was still trying to edge his way off of Wes' lap without pissing him off, but he caught something about them crashing a car into the side of a KFC, and even though Wes' friends thought the story was hilarious, Grantaire felt vaguely horrified.

As far as he was concerned, Wes had no right feeling uncomfortable with Grantaire's friends. Grantaire's friends were weird, but they were also fucking awesome. Wes' friends sounded like god damn psychopaths.

Grantaire was further convinced of this when Montparnasse and Babet got into an actual knife fight over Montparnasse chugging the last of the Smirnoff Gold when Babet had called dibs on it. It ended peacefully enough; Babet only got a few nicks, Montparnasse wasn't stabbed at all, and they were both cheerful enough when they staggered off to the bathroom together for the first aid kit, but Grantaire was still freaked out. Part of the reason he was as freaked out as he was was because no one else in the room seemed to mind at all.

It was a fucking _knife fight_. That was all kinds of different from Bahorel occasionally punching assholes who deserved it when they were at the Corinth. That was a whole different fucking universe from Bahorel.

For the most part, Wes' friends were content to ignore Grantaire. He didn't really want to engage with the psychos, really he just wanted to go home and pretend the entire godawful day had never happened, but it did kind of grate on him. _His_ friends had tried to bring Wes into the group. They asked him questions, tried to get to know him...it had been overwhelming because there had been so damn many of them, but none of them had been mean-spirited.

Enjolras had been socially incompetent, but it wasn't coming from a bad place.

Grantaire forced himself not to think about Enjolras, and tried to tune back into the conversation, but it sounded like they were talking about petty theft and vandalism. For his own sanity, he tuned back out again. He went with anxiously wondering when the hell he'd be able to make a getaway.

About an hour or so after the knife fight, Wes' friends started trickling out. Brujon had a court date in the morning that he wanted to be somewhat presentable for, and Claquesous had taken off without anyone noticing. Azelma yawned loudly and lightly kicked her sister a few times. Eponine playfully whapped her over the head, but then seriously asked Montparnasse if he was ready to go.

"Yeah, sure. Wes, can I steal your boy for a second first?"

Grantaire once more grumbled something about how they could talk directly to him if they so wished, but was once more ignored. Wes seemed to grant the unnecessary permission; at any rate, he let Grantaire stand up. Grantaire followed Montparnasse into the kitchen, curious about what the guy was going to say to him. Montparnasse hadn't actually spoken directly to him the entire night.

First he had to wait for the suave looking bastard to light up a clove, but after a few puffs of his cigarette Montparnasse spoke. "Wes seems really into you."

"Yeah, he is. I like him too." That was starting to become a lie, though Grantaire still wanted to give Wes the benefit of the doubt. Yes, it had been a horrible night, but Grantaire of all people knew how unfair it could be to judge a guy by his behavior when he'd had a few too many.

Montparnasse nodded. "Look, you seem like a decent enough guy, so I'm just going to come out and say this. Be careful with Wes."

"Pardon?" Was he hearing that right?

Montparnasse's fine brows knit together as he regarded Grantaire with a dark sincerity. "Just, be careful. I love Wes to death, but the guy's a fucking basket case. Don't let him fuck you up, okay kid?"

"Kid? I'm pretty sure I'm older than you." That was really all Grantaire could think to say. What else could you say to the fucking psycho who pulled out an actual knife in response to a petty argument telling you that your boyfriend was crazy?

Montparnasse laughed, then turned around and went back into the living room. "Alright girls, ready to go?"

"Yeah, just let me get my purse."

The rest of Wes' friends finally left, which should have been comforting. However, Grantaire felt a knot form in his stomach when he realized that Wes was going to expect him to spend the night again, and at this hour he probably should. It didn't really make sense to walk home this close to midnight. But he really wanted his own bed, and more importantly, the space and privacy to go over his thoughts.

Wes was sprawled over his couch, one arm thrown over the back, looking relaxed and completely unaware of any weirdness from the evening. Grantaire quietly gathered up the mason jars and what remained of the liquor bottles and brought them into the kitchen. Once he'd tidied up he awkwardly stood in front of the couch and bounced from foot to foot. "Uh...Wes?"

"Mm?"

"I think I'm gonna head out now too."

Wes didn't bother looking up. "You should just stay over."

"I should, but I slept over last night and I...y'know when you just want to be in your own bed?"

Wes shook his head. "I'm not partial to that feeling, I guess. Babe, it is far too late for me to drive you home and I am in no state to get behind the wheel. Just stay here with me...you like me, don't you?"

"I do, but I'm feeling kind of off. I don't mind walking home. I'll give you a call tomorrow morning though, okay?" Oh god, he really was asking for permission to go to his own fucking home.

Wes sat up straight, dangerous eyes fully open and trained on Grantaire. He still looked relaxed enough, but somehow, Grantaire could tell that he'd fucked up. "Listen beautiful, it's not safe for you to walk around alone at this hour. I live in one of the worst neighborhoods in the city, and you live in one of the other worst neighborhoods in the city. Just stay here with me. If you like me as much as you say you do, it shouldn't be a big deal."

Grantaire sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair. "I'll shoot my friends a text and see if any of them are still awake." Before Wes could say anything, he stalked into the bedroom to fish his phone out of his backpack.

Before he could send out the text asking for a rescue, Grantaire found Enjolras' drunk text waiting for him. First a sad little smile formed against his volition as he read the uncharacteristically emotional (and poorly spelled) message, but it died quickly as a few tears welled in his eyes.

All he wanted in that moment was to be wherever Enjolras was. He'd had a sneaking suspicion the guy would be adorable if he ever got drunk, but it wasn't something he'd ever expected to get to confirm, what with Enjolras being made of self-control and discipline. Most importantly though, Grantaire felt safe when he was around Enjolras, and at the moment he was having a hard time remembering the last time he'd felt that way.

Forgetting about a plea for a rescue entirely, Grantaire texted Enjolras back asking if he could come over. He went into the other room to lie to Wes about getting a ride from Courfeyrac, but it proved unnecessary. Wes had passed out on the couch.

Knowing Wes would be pissed about it when he woke up, Grantaire still left. He threw a blanket over Wes first, and dropped a kiss on his temple, but ultimately he crept out of the apartment and started walking towards Enjolras' neighborhood. He kept his phone in his hand the entire time, waiting for a response to his text, but he didn't get one.

Disappointed, and mad at himself for being so disappointed when he shouldn't have expected any better, Grantaire switched courses and walked to his place instead. It took him awhile to fall asleep, since he was being nagged by some kind of hollow sensation akin to dread. He felt like he'd utterly fucked up, which wasn't exactly new to him, but it didn't normally hit him this way.

He was awoken early the next morning by the sound of crunching plastic and strangled curses. Grantaire jumped into a sitting position on the mattress when he heard the remaining pieces of his phone thrown against the wall with an unearthly loud bang.

Wes was standing in the center of the room, after having let himself in, fuming. Grantaire had never seen him that pissed off before. "Care to explain to me what in the hell you were going to talk to Enjolras about if he'd responded to your text, you fucking whore?"

Grantaire wet his suddenly dry lips with his tongue and willed his hammering heart to calm it the fuck down. "Uh...good morning to you too."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, I finally know where this story is going again! Sorry for taking so long with the update. Obviously, other stories got in the way for a little while there. If anyone's still reading this despite the prolonged period of no-updating, feel free to leave me a comment and let me know what you think.


	7. Chapter 7

Enjolras spent a good chunk of the morning trying to establish communication with Grantaire. When those efforts bore no fruit he tried to put the kid out of his mind. He failed spectacularly.

He thought he’d read three chapters of his book, but upon reflection nothing on women and the media had stuck in Enjolras’ mind. Rather, he’d come up with at least a dozen different scenarios of things Grantaire might have wanted to say to him when he’d sent that text. Enjolras set the book aside and mulled over the text, finally giving it his full attention hoping he could puzzle out its meaning and move on.            

Was Grantaire still angry? Did he want to yell at Enjolras some more? Did he want to apologize for freaking out and then run into Enjolras’ outstretched arms like the clichéd climax of some romantic movie (not likely, but certainly his favorite option). Or, the possibility he was trying not to linger on, was Grantaire in some kind of trouble?

Enjolras tried calling Grantaire one last time, but this time the phone didn’t even ring before going right to voicemail. A shiver ran through him at the sound of Grantaire’s scratchy voice on the recording. It felt like weeks since they’d had a good conversation. It was sad, really, the strong response Enjolras had to just the sound of Grantaire asking him to leave a message.

The fact that his phone appeared to be out of service was worrying though. It wasn’t unusual for Grantiare to forget to charge it and let the battery run down, but still, no rings at all was a markedly worse step from what he'd been dealing with so far that morning.

That firmed Enjolras up into decision. He snagged his hoodie, grabbed his car keys from the coffee table, toed on his shoes, and headed out the door.

***

Enjolras took a look at Grantaire’s building, considered once more whether he ought to be there or not, and then started climbing the stairs.

Combeferre was going to kill him. He was thoroughly ignoring all the man’s advice by even being there, and Combeferre had been right about everything so far. Somehow though, Enjolras knew in his gut that Combeferre was wrong about this. He couldn’t explain it rationally, but he knew that Grantaire needed his help, and that this wasn’t the time to back down and wait.

Or maybe that’s just what he wanted to think. Enjolras paused outside Grantaire’s door, chewing at his lip.

He’d pushed Grantaire away by acting without thought. He’d let his desire to see Grantaire and unburden himself from his feelings cloud his judgment, and he’d hurt Grantaire in the process. Granted, Grantaire had reached out to him since then, but he’d most likely changed his mind about it. If Enjolras ever wanted to be friends with him again, he needed to respect his relationship with Wes, and he needed to back off.

He was standing right outside Grantaire’s door. He started down the steps again, resigned to going a few days without seeing the man and resigned to his increasingly irrational fears in the meantime. He’d go home, make another attempt at reading his book, and probably end up mooning over Grantaire’s Facebook page again. It wouldn’t be satisfying (Grantaire almost never posted anything on Facebook and he wouldn’t let Courfeyrac tag him in anything), but he wouldn’t be risking another blow up from the temperamental artist.

Then he heard the strangled shout and the sound of something heavy crashing to the ground.

Enjolras jumped the last three steps and rushed to Grantaire’s door. He banged his fist against it. “Grantaire? Are you there?”

“Fucking let go of me-”

“What the fuck is that piece of shit doing at your house, Grantaire? I thought I told you not to see him anymore!”

“Argh, Wes, let me up! Let go- _fuck_!”

Enjolras tried the knob, but it appeared that this was one time when Grantaire had actually taken the trouble to lock his door. He backed up a few paces, then threw his shoulder against the door. Thankfully, nothing in Grantaire’s building was well-maintained and the door easily gave under Enjolras’ weight.

He rushed into Grantaire’s decrepit little apartment, barely registering what he saw. Grantaire was on the floor holding his hands defensively over his face, with  blood trickling down his nose and swollen lip. Wes was standing over him. Before Enjolras could get to him he kicked Grantaire in the ribs.

Then Enjolras got his hands on Wes’ shoulders. He pulled him back and threw him across the room.

As Enjolras had suspected, Wes had a temper. Unfortunately for him, Enjolras had one as well, and whereas he normally held himself in careful check, he was capable of being terrible when he felt reason to unleash the full force of his anger. Wes seemed like a perfect target for his suppressed wrath.

Wes landed hard on the floorboards, but he pulled himself to his feet almost immediately and ran at Enjolras. He was met with a fist in the face that sent him back to the ground, but then he grabbed Enjolras’ knees and knocked him down. Enjolras’ head whacked off Grantaire’s dresser, and for a moment he saw stars. It was enough of a lapse for Wes to pin him to the ground, plant his knees on Enjolras’ chest, and get his hands around Enjolras’ throat.

Enjolras pried Wes’ hands off him, twisted, and pinned him instead. He tangled a hand in Wes’ stringy, dead hair and smacked his head against the floorboards.

“Holy shit! Guys, guys, _stop_!” Grantaire pleaded. He crawled across the room and tried to get between them. Wes shot out an elbow and got Grantaire in the face.

“You disgusting piece of shit. Keep your god damn hands _off_ of him!” Enjolras roared. From there he lost track of what he was doing; he came back to himself when Grantaire physically dragged him away from Wes.

Wes was curled into a fetal position, hugging his sides protectively and whimpering. His hair was tinged an awful pinkish tone from the blood mingling with his unnaturally pale hair, and his face was puffy and swollen. It was hard to see the handsome, cocksure young man in the wreck on the floor.

Enjolras was breathing heavily. He had blood on his knuckles and under his fingernails, and there were a few strands of whitish hair between his fingers.

“Oh fuck,” Grantaire whispered. “Fucking hell, Enjolras. What did you just do?”

“Are you okay?” Enjolras asked, because he didn’t want to think about that just yet. He cupped Grantaire’s face in his hands and inspected him. He frowned at the sight of the purpling bruises on Grantaire’s blotchy skin. “I think that bastard broke your nose. How do you feel? Do you want me to take you to the hospital?”

“Um…Enj? I think Wes might need a trip to the hospital more than me.”

“He can drag himself there if he wants. I don’t give a shit what he needs.”

Grantaire placed his hands over Enjolras’, then lowered them and stepped away from him. He took a few deep breaths and dissolved into labored, panicky breathing. “Fuck. Oh fuck, Enjolras, what did you do? You looked like you were going to kill him. What the fuck are we going to do?”

“Calm down, ‘Taire. Please, you’re working yourself up too much. You’re going to be sick. Bahorel’s left people in much worse shape than this, and it’s no more than he deserves.” Enjolras walked over to Wes and nudged him with his shoe. “Stop whimpering and get up. Can't you see you're freaking him out?”

“You’re fucking dead, pretty boy!” Wes snapped. He wiped at his face, smearing blood across it, then pulled himself unsteadily to his feet. “Do you have any idea who my friends are? We will fucking kill you for this.”

“Go to your friends then,” Enjolras said. “I’m not impressed. You’d be best off keeping your distance, and if you do ever lay a hand on Grantaire again I will end you. I will destroy you more thoroughly than you can imagine, and those friends of yours will be too afraid to even speak of you. Your existence will be a mere memory that no one dares recall.”

“He’s not yours!” Wes spat. “He’s mine! You didn’t want him, so what the fuck are you even trying to get involved for? Grantaire-”

“Don’t speak to him!” Enjolras stepped forward and Wes shrank away from him.

“Guys,” Grantaire pleaded. His face was wet, and Enjolras’ heart sank when he realized he’d been crying. He’d probably been crying for some time. “Guys, please, stop this.”

“Babe, I’m sorry I lost my temper. But didn’t I kind of have a point?” Wes gestured at Enjolras in amazement. “You can’t think it’s a good idea to be friends with a guy like this. Someone who’ll wail on your boyfriend for no reason.”

“ _No reason_?” Enjolras yelped. “You _hit_ him!”

“You made me!” Wes yelled, then clutched at his face where the yelling had pulled at his tender skin. “Fuuuuuck. Babe, get rid of him. Tell him to get the fuck out of here.”

Enjolras shot a desperate look at Grantaire. “If you think I’m leaving you alone with him now that I’ve confirmed he’s abusive then we’ve never actually been friends because you clearly know nothing about me.”

“I, ah…uh…” Grantaire tugged at his hair. He was rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. “Wes, you need to go.”

“What? You’re picking _him_?”

“I’m not picking anyone. You guys both just went psycho. You know what, fuck it, I’m going.” Grantaire started for the door. Enjolras would have helplessly watched him go, but then Wes made to follow him and Enjolras got between them.

Wes snarled at him. “Will you stop getting in the fucking way? He’s my boyfriend. I have a right to talk to him.”

“Grantaire, keeping in mind that he fucking hit you, is this sack of shit still your boyfriend?” Enjolras asked.

“No,” Grantaire snapped. “Wes, this is…even I have more respect for myself than this. We’re done.” Enjolras started to smile, but his heart sank at Grantaire’s next words. “What the fuck are you so happy about? You’re not my boyfriend either. In fact…I don’t know what the fuck you are, Enj. Both of you, just keep away from me.” Grantaire turned tail and ran, leaving a pair of distraught, crazy-eyed blonds in his wake.

Wes let out a soft groan, put a hand to his head, and then doubled over. “That fucking little…argh.”

Enjolras eyed him coldly. “I hope those bruises and cuts are as painful as they look.” He left the apartment. He would have liked to slam the door behind him, but seeing as he’d broken it to get in it only sadly creaked as he left.

* * *

Combeferre and Drew were watching a movie in the living room when Enjolras got back. Enjolras mildly wondered if Combeferre had reassessed his intentions towards his new friend. They were cuddled up against each other on the couch, and Combeferre had his arm around Drew. Drew’s head was resting on his shoulder.

They looked really sweet. Considering Enjolras still had Wes’ blood under his fingernails, it would probably be for the best if he could just get to his room without them seeing him…

“Holy hell, Enjolras! Where the fuck have you been and what did you-is that Wes’ _hair_ stuck to your hand?”

There went that.

“I’d rather not talk about it. You look busy.” Enjolras motioned helplessly towards Drew, who’d gone wide eyed and was staring back and forth between them. It made the pale blonde hairs more noticeable as they flopped back and forth with the motion of his hand. He really needed to wash his hands; they'd been cemented in place by the dried blood.

Combeferre was flabbergasted, but that didn’t last long. Enjolras only got a few paces closer to his bedroom before his roommate recovered the ability to speak. He jumped off of the couch, walked over to Enjolras and snagged his hand.

“Bloodied knuckles too, hm? Well, I guess when you do something, you don’t do it halfway. You didn’t kill him, did you?”

Enjolras scowled. “I wanted to, but no, as that is frowned upon I held myself in check.”

“Enjolras, what happened?”

“He-”

“Why were you even there?” Combeferre interrupted. “You said you were going to give Grantaire some space, that you were going to try to get over him. How is beating up his boyfriend getting over him?”

“You don’t understand.” Enjolras yanked his hand away from Combeferre, wincing when he moved his fingers too quickly and strained his knuckles. “Grantaire texted me and asked me to come over, but then I couldn’t get in touch with him. I went over to see if anything was the matter…” He stopped, because Combeferre made a frustrated little noise and he couldn’t quell his irritation. “I realized it was a bad idea before I got to his door, okay? I was going to leave, but then I heard them having a fight. Wes was beating him. I think Grantaire’s nose might be broken.”

“Wait, what?” Combeferre gaped at him. “Wes is abusing Grantaire? You’re sure of it?”

Enjolras cast a look down at his bloodied hands. “I wouldn’t have reacted this severely otherwise.”

“Um…should I go?” Drew was nervously watching them from the sofa. Enjolras swore under his breath.

“Drew, I promise, this conversation isn’t at all representative of our household. And besides that, Combeferre has a lot more sense than I do.”

Drew smirked. “I’ve yet to see him running around with bruised knuckles, so I did get that impression.”

“Actually, they’re bloodied.”

“’Ferre, you’re not helping.”

Drew stood up and walked over to them. “Representative or not, it looks like you’ve got your hands full. I’ll get going and let you guys sort out the drama. Call me later with an update though?”

Combeferre nodded. “Sure. We’re still on for the museum on Friday?”

“Hells yes. That is, as long as you’re absolutely sure you want to go through a natural history museum with me talking your ear off.”

“Drew, you’ll be lucky if you can get a word in around him,” Enjolras said.

Drew and Combeferre smiled stupidly at each other for a moment, and Enjolras had the good sense to keep out of any conversation that emerged. All that happened was Combeferre promising to pick Drew up for the museum visit at ten o’clock, and then Combeferre walked him to the door.

Before he left, Drew leaned up on his tiptoes and planted a kiss on Combeferre’s lips. It was quick; Enjolras would have missed it entirely if he hadn’t already been looking in their direction.

Combeferre didn’t say anything, but he was still smiling stupidly when he followed Enjolras into the bathroom. The smile turned into a scowl alarmingly quickly as he helped Enjolras clean his cuts and gauze up his knuckles. When Enjolras mentioned hitting his head, he checked his pupils even though Enjolras insisted that he would know by then if he had a concussion.

Combeferre prodded along his scalp until he found the bump. “You’ve got a nice sized goose egg going, but it doesn’t look like anything to worry about. So, how did Grantaire feel about you running to his rescue?”

“Um…”

“You scared him, didn’t you?”

Enjolras looked down at his feet and answered with a mumble. “Seriously, how are you always right about everything?”

“Basic powers of observation and reasoning, actually. Where did Grantaire go?”

Enjolras shrugged his shoulders. “I couldn’t find him, and his phone’s not in service. I came back here because my hands were hurting on the steering wheel, and…I thought you might have a better idea about what to do next.”

It appeared he did, because Combeferre was already going through the contacts on his phone. Enjolras sat down on the edge of their bathtub and tried not to nervously pick at the tape and gauze Combeferre had just applied to his hands. He could hear the sound of someone’s phone ringing even though Combeferre didn’t have his cell set to speaker. The two of them were being gravely quiet enough for him to hear everything.

“Hey howdy. What’s shaking?”

Oh. Come to think of it, calling Courfeyrac made perfect sense.

“Hello, Courf,” Combeferre greeted. “Has Grantaire been by?”

Enjolras strained his hearing, but he could barely make out Courfeyrac’s voice now that he was speaking at a sensible volume. Combeferre quickly explained the situation, having to pause every now and then for some colorful sounding commentary from their friend. Enjolras started feeling restless the longer the conversation went on. Contacting Courfeyrac went from sounding like a brilliant idea to a waste of time; yes, Courfeyrac would likely be the first person Grantaire would think of seeking out, but clearly he wasn’t there, so shouldn’t they start thinking of something else?

Then Courfeyrac interrupted something Combeferre was saying, and Combeferre abruptly ended the call. Enjolras shot to his feet. “Was that him? Is he there?”

Combeferre gently touched Enjolras’ shoulders and nudged him so that he was sitting on the edge of the tub again. “He’s there, yes. That was him showing up.”

Enjolras tried to stand again, but the pressure on his shoulders increased. Combeferre wasn’t letting him up. “Let go of me. We know where Grantaire is, so we should go there.”

“No, Enjolras. Let Courfeyrac talk to him first. Give him some time to breathe.”

“’Ferre-”

“You already admitted you scared him. How do you think it’s going to go if you run over there now while he’s still freaked out?” Combeferre let go of Enjolras’ shoulders, watching him carefully with a saddened expression.

Enjolras tangled a hand in his hair and started rocking back and forth. “I just want to see him so badly.”

“I know. We’ll make sure you get the chance, but let’s wait until he’s in the right kind of headspace to hear what you’ve got to say. He has every reason to be freaked out. Give him at least enough space to unburden himself to Courfeyrac. He probably really needs this, Enjolras."

Enjolras heaved a quiet sigh, eyes resting on the floor. Combeferre gave his shoulders an affectionate squeeze, then removed his hands. "I'll text Courfeyrac and tell him to call one of us as soon as he can with an update. Until then, do you want to watch some Nova specials with me?" He laughed when he caught Enjolras' expression.

"Could we maybe do a Ken Burns documentary instead?"

Combeferre rolled his eyes. "It's always history or social justice propaganda with you. Fine, I won't force you to kill time by learning about science. But please pick anything other than the Civil War one. It always gets Battle Hymn of the Republic stuck in my head."

"But 'Ferre, that's my favorite one!"

"What about the Jazz one?"

They kept bickering over which documentary to put on all while Combeferre made them mugs of tea. Eventually Enjolras got his way and they settled in with the first episode of the Civil War documentary. Enjolras had to be careful while he drank his tea, what with his bandaged hands, but otherwise watching the documentary with his best friend was a wonderful way to distract himself from obsessively watching his phone for any activity from Courfeyrac.

* * *

Meanwhile, Courfeyrac was struggling with his unexpected house guest.

Grantaire had arrived on his doorstep while he was still talking to Combeferre. While Courfeyrac hung up, Grantaire brushed past him and proceeded to silently pace around his living room, fidgeting and just generally looking like a bundle of nerves. Courfeyrac shut the door and shoved his phone in his pocket, then calmly approached Grantaire and tried to talk to him.

Grantaire ignored him and continued pacing and fidgeting for another twenty minutes. Courfeyrac had seen him upset like that before, so he let him, but he did so reluctantly, feeling his own tightness in his chest as he watched his friend suffer. He didn't think Grantaire's nose was broken; Enjolras had likely exaggerated in his panic, but it certainly didn't look pleasant either. His face was horridly bruised, and with his recent weight loss and how pale he'd gotten, he just looked very fragile and a bit broken.

Courfeyrac silently wished that he'd been the one to deliver the ass kicking Wes so richly deserved, though of course Enjolras must have been much better at it than he'd have been.

Finally, Grantaire's nervous energy seemed to leave him. He collapsed onto the couch, hugged his knees to his chest, and curled himself into a defeated looking ball. Courfeyrac sat down next to him and gently trailed his fingers over Grantaire's back. "Hey. Enjolras is really freaking out about you. He thought Wes might have broken your nose. In a little bit, when you've calmed down, would you be cool with heading over to Combeferre or Joly's place so they can look at it?"

"My nose isn't broken. I've broken it before. I know what it feels like."

"Okay. Cool, I didn't really want Joly looking at it anyway. He'd probably decide we needed to amputate or something. So, uh...was this the first time Wes hit you?"

Grantaire didn't say anything. He just hugged his knees tighter, and Courfeyrac swore under his breath. "Sorry. I'm not really sure what I'm doing here. Do you want to talk or should I leave you alone so you can calm-"

"Don't leave me alone, please."

"...down. Okay, I'm right here." Courfeyrac slid a little closer and reached over to pat his knee. "I'm really sorry, 'Taire. I'm sorry you're going through all this shit, and I'm especially sorry that we didn't do anything to get involved. We were all getting bad vibes off of Wes, but no one wanted to interfere because we thought we were jumping to conclusions."

"It's not like...I mean, yeah, he did do some weird stuff, but he wasn't beating the shit out of me. He freaked out and hurt my arm once. Today was the first time he really lost his shit, and even if Enjolras hadn't run in and tried to kill him, I wouldn't have stayed after that. He wouldn't have convinced me...shit. He's really good at apologizing, Courf. He probably would have talked me into thinking it was my fault. Fuck, I'm so fucking weak."

"You're not. You've just been really lonely and down about yourself and he preyed on that. 'Taire, you've spent enough time with us social justice whackos to know the speeches about domestic abuse. We're not going to judge you for what happened, but we are going to help you recover. If Wes tries to go after you again, we're definitely going to do something this time."

Grantaire sat up, and ran a shaking hand across his face. He squeezed his eyes shut in a grimace. "Can I crash here for a few days? Enjolras broke my door when he ran in to try to kill Wes, and I don't want to go home until I can lock it again. Wes...Wes just kind of shows up and I, uh..."

Courfeyrac squeezed his shoulder. "My couch is your couch, okay? You can stay here as long as you want."

"Thanks, Courf."

"So...about Enjolras-"

"Not yet."

"R, he probably wasn't trying to kill Wes."

Grantaire shook his head, haunted blue eyes unblinkingly fixed ahead and likely staring at nothing. "You weren't there, Courf. He tried to strangle him. He smashed his head against the floorboards. He mangled his face. He was going to kill Wes. I mean, I mean, fuck. I knew Enjolras had some issues. Like, I've noticed that there's some darkness to him. But I've never seen him like that. He looked so cold, too. And then when Wes was just, like, writhing on the ground he came over and touched my face and he was, like, stupidly tender and careful...and there was a guy moaning brokenly on the ground two feet away because of him. It was all kinds of fucked up, Courf."

"It sounds it." Courfeyrac took a deep breath and tried again. "Grantaire, Enjolras is really worried about you. He cares about you a lot."

Grantaire shook his head again. "I'm...I'm gonna, um...I'm gonna adjust to not dating a psychotic but beautiful blond radical for a little while. And when I start feeling like me again, I think I should try to date a new type. Enjolras isn't as bad as Wes, but it's the same kind of crazy. I don't, um...I don't think I need that kind of crazy in my life."

Courfeyrac's heart sank. "'Taire, Enjolras is _not_ like Wes. I mean, superficially, yeah, they're into some of the same things and they're both opinionated and they can be kinda scary, but Wes is fucking evil, and Enjolras is like one of the best human beings I've ever met. He'd never raise a hand against you."

"I just watched him beat someone bloody, Courf."

"You watched him lose his shit because someone was hurting you. It's not like it was unprovoked." Courfeyrac laid the tip of his index finger as gently as he could against Grantaire's nose to make his point. "It might not be broken, but your nose looks like it hurts. Enjolras probably would have contented himself with yelling at Wes if Wes hadn't been hurting you. Besides, do you think any of the rest of us would have kept cooler heads? Combeferre or Jehan _maybe_ , but even they would have freaked. I would have kicked the crap out of Wes too, if I'd been there, and Bahorel probably would have actually killed him."

Grantaire frowned, then returned to the fetal position. "I don't want to talk about this anymore. I don't even want to think about this anymore, but I'm not sure if that's an option."

With a sigh, Courfeyrac got up and went to fetch a blanket. He threw it over Grantaire, then threw a pillow on the floor just in front of the couch and sat down in front of him. He turned on the TV and put on Netflix. "Okay, I won't pester you about the drama until you're ready for more soul-searchy chatting. What do you want to marathon in the meantime?"

"Thank you."

Courfeyrac grinned. "Not a problem, dude. But seriously, what do you want to watch? Because otherwise I'm just gonna pick up where I left off in Orange is the New Black. Show's fucking addictive."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'm getting into the home stretch for this one. Maybe two or three more chapters.  
> Thanks for the comments last chapter, guys, and if you want to throw any more my way I'd certainly love to see them. I'm glad folks are still reading this one even though I abandoned it for so long :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some angsty fallout from the events of the previous chapter. 
> 
> Grantaire declares a need for space, and Enjolras tries to respect that.

Grantaire gave the new lock and deadbolt on his door a few tries, smiling weakly when he found them holding successfully. Once he was satisfied that his door was able to securely lock, he opened it and gave an appreciative nod to the friends standing on the other side. Feuilly had Bahorel were perched just in front of the stairwell admiring their handiwork. They had just spent a profanity filled half hour fixing his door and installing the new locks, having purchased the locks themselves, and only asking a beer apiece in payment.

“Looks like everything’s working. Are you sure your landlord won’t mind you changing the locks?” Feuilly asked.

“The landlord can kiss my ass. It’s not like this place is up to code to begin with,” Grantaire said. “So, uh…thanks again for helping me out. I’m just…just gonna hang in tonight, I think. Say hey to the guys at the Musain for me?”

Bahorel let out an exasperated noise, but Feuilly’s concerned frown was infinitely more effective. “Aren’t you going to come with us? We were all expecting you.”

“Yeah, it’s been fucking forever since you’ve hung out with us,” Bahorel added. “Jehan legit has not seen you in two and a half weeks. You’re making our poet frown, R. If he gets to the point of crying then friend or not, there will be consequences of the dire kind.”

“I know, I know. Everyone’s pissed at me. I just need a little more time to myself to angst and brood. Jehan understands shit like that. Tell him it’s an artist thing, okay? It’s nothing personal.” Before they could respond or attempt to persuade him, Grantaire shut the door and locked his brand new deadbolt.

One of them, most likely Bahorel, started pounding on the door. Grantaire ignored him and flopped onto his mattress. He curled onto his side, staring at a patch of his wall that he particularly liked looking at when he was in a sulk. It was covered in a hideous floral print wallpaper that had suffered heavy water damage from the leaky roof, leaving it with stains that could be almost as entertaining as cloud-watching when Grantaire was in the right kind of depression.

Eventually the banging stopped. Grantaire let out a relieved sigh, knots of tension finally uncurling and giving him the illusion that he might be able to relax a little and not just brood.

“Dude, Enjolras isn’t even going to be there! He’s avoiding us all too, so could you _please_ get your head out of your ass and act like you’re still friends with us?!”

“Bahorel, that’s not helping. Come on, let’s just give him some space. He’s not ready yet.”

Grantaire mentally thanked Feuilly for having sense. The knots were back in full force, both from the obvious anger in Bahorel’s voice and his mention of Enjolras. Bahorel’s last grumbled statement made it even worse.

“If I ever find that fucking douchebag, I’m going to _kill_ Wes.”

“Nope,” Grantaire whispered. He closed his eyes, but snapped them back open when his traitorous mind formed an image of his ex-boyfriend. He glued his eyes to a particularly intriguing stain on the wallpaper that he’d always thought looked kind of like a flag in the wind. “Not thinking about _that_ angry blond either. Not thinking about any of this shit right now.”

The stairs started creaking under the heavy tread of Bahorel’s combat boots, and Grantaire’s nerves felt all the more steady for every individual creak. There was one more tap on the door before Feuilly left as well. “R, we’re all here when you’re ready for us.”

Grantaire nodded, and then pulled his blanket over his shoulders.

* * *

Predictably, Jehan looked crestfallen when Bahorel and Feuilly walked into the café by themselves. “Oh dear. I wish I were a handyman with serviceable carpentry skills. Then perhaps I’d have an excuse to see Grantaire again.”

Courfeyrac reached over and patted his shoulder. “Don’t take it personally, Jehan. I wouldn’t have seen him if he hadn’t wanted my couch for half a week. Now that he’s got his place back he’s probably going to be dormant for at least another week.”

Jehan sighed. “I miss him.”

“We all do,” Feuilly agreed. He shrugged out of his snow-covered hoodie and draped it over the back of a chair before stalking off to get his tea for table rent.

Bahorel continued standing, snow covered jacket remaining on his bulkier frame. “Anyone seen Wes recently? I’m starting to think that breaking his face might make me feel a whole lot better.”

“Enjolras already took care of that for you,” Courfeyrac said.

“Well Enjolras shouldn’t get to have all the fun. He’s not the only one who cares about Grantaire, you know.”

“Guys, part of the reason Enjolras is in such deep shit with Grantaire right now is because he lost his temper and added more violence to what was already an awful situation,” Combeferre spoke up. “Even if we do bump into Wes again, can we all agree that the best course of action is to leave him alone?”

Aside from Enjolras and Grantaire, all of the friends were there. Every single one of them turned an incredulous look Combeferre’s way, except Bahorel, who looked disgusted. Feuilly rejoined them with a steaming mug of tea and immediately quirked an eyebrow in confusion. “Why is everyone glaring at Combeferre?”

“Because he just suggested we leave Wes alone if we ever see the smarmy fuck again,” Bossuet explained.

“Oh. Well I agree with him there.” Then the incredulous/disgusted looks all turned Feuilly’s way.   
“Oh come on. Violence is how we got into this mess and perpetuating it won’t fix a damned thing. Besides, Wes isn’t the person we’re concerned with. We’re concerned with Grantaire, and to a lesser extent, Enjolras. Mauling Wes is only going to distract us from taking care of our friends.”

“Jehan, what’s your take on this?” Joly asked. “You’re usually our moral compass.”

Jehan frowned thoughtfully, and absently stirred his tea as he considered the situation. “I think…I think ‘Ferre and Feuilly are probably right but…I have to admit, I don’t find that course of action, or inaction, I suppose, satisfying. I’m only human, and I have to admit, I wish the person who hurt my friend were suffering more. It’s not right, what he did to Grantaire, and the fact that he hurt him so intimately under our noses frustrates me.”

“Plus he drove him into hiding again, so Feuilly’s ‘we need to take care of Grantaire’ bullshit is a moot point,” Bahorel said. “R won’t let us take care of him. Ergo, the only constructive course of action is to track Wes down, throw him in the back of a truck, and drive him to a nice, isolated-”

“Jesus Christ. You’ve given this some thought, haven’t you?” Joly squeaked.

Combeferre rolled his eyes, then had his attention diverted by a series of texts chiming on his phone. The first few made him smile, and his friends correctly concluded that they’d come from his new boyfriend. Then the last had him exasperatedly pinching the bridge of his nose. “Drew just found a stash of Bill Nye the Science Guy episodes he’d recorded as a kid and he hooked up his VCR for the sake of a marathon.”

“That sounds fun!” Joly said brightly, while Bossuet exaggeratedly frowned and shook his head. Their definitions of fun clearly weren’t in agreement.

“Yeah, but I have to go Enjolras-sit instead. Unless someone else wants to go over and remind him for the billionth time that he can’t force Grantaire to confide in him through sheer power of will?”

“I’ve got it,” Courfeyrac said. “Go cuddle your boyfriend. You deserve a night off.”

“The rest of us can handle Enjolras,” Bossuet added.

Combeferre smiled gratefully, sent Drew an answering text, then gathered his things and left. Feuilly eyed Courfeyrac expectantly, but all the man did was take a slow, deliberate sip of his macchiato. “Aren’t you going over to Enjolras’?”

“Nope.”

“But Courf…you just said-” Jehan started, but Courfeyrac interrupted.

“I know what I said, and I know ‘Ferre thinks that our stupid boys need some time apart. Well, the boys have had four full days to think deep thoughts. Grantaire’s just going to retreat into a depressive funk if they don’t have it out. Enjolras should head over there. It’s been long enough.”

“But…but R’s not ready,” Feuilly said. “As someone who saw him less than twenty minutes ago, allow me to assure you wholeheartedly that Grantaire is _not ready_ to face anything, least of all his shit, and he is most certainly not ready to have it out with Enjolras.”

Courfeyrac shrugged. “This is going to go on indefinitely if they keep avoiding each other. We might not get a perfect resolution, but they’ve got to come up with _something_. And they never will if Combeferre keeps running interference. But if you feel differently then you are perfectly welcome to run back to R’s place and chase Enjolras off yourself.”

Bossuet stuck his finger on his nose. “Not it.”

Fingers started hitting noses all around the table. Scowling, Feuilly pulled his damp hoodie on, leaving his untouched tea on the table. “You guys are all assholes,” he snapped before storming out of the café.

Jehan calmly carried the tea up to the counter and got it poured into a to-go cup, then returned to the table and pulled on his somewhat bulkier winter wear.

“What are you doing?” Courfeyrac asked.

“I’m not an asshole,” Jehan returned simply. He put on a pair of ridiculous looking polka dotted mittens, grabbed Feuilly’s tea, and then followed him out the door.

* * *

Enjolras felt like screaming when he parked in front of Grantaire’s building and saw Feuilly and Jehan sitting on the stoop. He’d texted Combeferre, and only Combeferre, because he wanted to talk to someone before heading over to check on Grantaire. Not only had his supposed-best friend not called him back, but apparently he’d set their friends to guard him.

Enjolras climbed out of the car, angrily snatched up the canvas tote containing a hastily thrown together care package for Grantaire, and then trudged over to confront his friends. “What are you doing here?”

“Hello, dearest,” Jehan greeted brightly. “We missed you at the Musain tonight.”

“He’s not going to let you deflect him,” Feuilly said. “Look at the way his nostrils are flaring. Hi, Enjolras. Want to talk to us for a few minutes before you head up there and push Grantaire into a full-fledged panic attack? The poor kid’s not having a very good day. He barely spoke three words to me and Bahorel when we were here earlier to change his locks.”

Enjolras’ anger gave way to concern. His shoulders slumped, the goods in his tote knocking together audibly with the movement. “It’s been a few days…he’s still panicky?”

“Yep.”

“I just want to see him…even if it’s just for a few minutes.”

“What’s that?” Jehan asked, noticing the tote.

Enjolras opened the bag and held up a few of the things he’d picked up at the store the other night when he’d been getting his own groceries. “I got him a few things I thought he might want while he’s being a shut-in. Some new pencils, a sketch pad, that tea he likes…”

Jehan smiled. “That’s so sweet…Feuilly, maybe we should try to get him to open the door for a few minutes. Enjolras is right about one thing…it’s been days. Hiding for this long isn’t healthy either.”

“I know, but if we push him too much then it could make the hiding last longer.” Feuilly frowned. “Why don’t you do it? Grantaire listens to you more than the rest of us.”

“Here.” Enjolras shoved the bag at Jehan. “Give him this and tell him I’m down here, but I’ll only come upstairs if he’s okay with it.”

Jehan looked a little taken aback at being declared their ambassador (of-sorts), but he took the bag and went upstairs. Enjolras took his place next to Feuilly on the stoop and sat with his elbows resting on his knees, his chin in his hands. He let out a shaky breath and closed his eyes.

He almost jumped out of his skin when he felt a soothing hand rubbing against his back. “It’ll be okay, Enjolras. It might take longer than you’d like, but eventually it’s going to work out. We know now, and we’re going to help him.”

Enjolras didn’t trust his voice just then, so he only nodded his appreciation.

Meanwhile, Jehan was making his way up the creepy, creaky staircase by himself wondering what in the world he was supposed to say to a friend who’d made it painfully clear he wanted to be left alone. Jehan felt torn. He often declared what he termed mental health sabbaticals when he felt he needed them. He’d play hermit in his bedroom, with only his houseplants and his goldfish for living company, stacks of books for intellectual companions, and he’d hide until his gloomy moods passed and he felt comfortable facing the world again. He might not have perfectly understood what Grantaire was going through, but he could certainly empathize, and though he wanted to see his friend healthfully out and about again, he also didn’t want to intrude.

Jehan gently tapped against the door when he got to it. “Grantaire? Dear, would you mind letting me in for just a moment? I have a message from some friends, and besides that, I’d like to give you a hug if you’d let me.”

Jehan waited for a few minutes, but as far as he could tell his plea had received no answer. Then his heart leapt when he heard some slow footsteps heading his way. The bolt snapped open, and then the door slowly creaked open a crack.

Poor Grantaire looked terrible. His eyes looked haunted behind the puffy, irritated skin they were surrounded by, and his hair was in a frightful state, even considering his usual standards. “Hey,” he whispered, voice raspy from going unused for so long.

“Hello,” Jehan whispered, not managing to sound even fractionally cheerful. “I’m sorry to intrude.”

“Nah, it’s cool. I kinda wanted to see you. I just, uh…haven’t really wanted to leave. Kinda glad this shit all hit the fan after the semester ended. Did you want to come in?”

“Yes, please.”

Grantaire stepped aside and let Jehan into his squalid little room. He took a seat on the upturned record crate by the mattress, and waited for Grantaire to join him. Grantaire locked the door up, then dropped down in front of him and pulled his blanket over his shoulders. “So is everyone pissed at me?” he asked.

Jehan shook his head. “They’re disappointed, my love, not upset. Everyone’s worried about you, and they want to see you because they want to know you’re doing better.”

“Ah. I’m…I think I’m getting there. It’s just, I mean…kind of a lot of shit to process. Y’know? First big relationship, I started getting over my unhealthy as fuck obsession with Enj, then my first relationship turned to shit, and then I found out my obsession wasn’t as unhealthy as I thought because Enjolras actually liked me back, he was just a fucking dick about it…and then he tried to kill my abusive boyfriend. Like, I don’t even know what to think anymore. I spent the last few years telling myself I could never be good enough for Enjolras, that I’d never be enough for the kind of guy I wanted to love. But even the guys I fall in love with are full of shit. Heh. I guess that’s what I get for putting another flawed mortal on such a pedestal.”

Jehan’s brows knit together as he processed Grantaire’s words. “Grantaire, are you…disillusioned with your love for Enjolras? Is that what has you so rattled?”

Grantaire turned away from him, mouth set in a hard line. After a moment, he spoke. “That’s part of it, I guess. I really thought that he was better…I thought…I dunno. If someone like him exists, all stainless and selfless and pure, then maybe there’s hope for fuckups like me. But he’s not really any better. He’s jealous, and petty, and violent. I think it’s worse, because he pretends to be all noble and shit. At least people can tell from looking at me that I’m a fucking waste.”

“No one thinks any such thing.” Jehan reached out and touched Grantaire’s arm. “Please don’t think I’m condoning Enjolras’ actions, because I’m not. I think it’s horrible that he assaulted Wes. However, I think it’s admirable that he stopped Wes from hurting you. I think it’s terrible that it took him so long to realize the depth of his feelings for you, but I think it’s wonderful that he has them. And I think that you’re only going to continue to make the worst of his feelings if you brood on them while you’re already depressed. You need to talk to Enjolras and let him explain his own motives and actions. There’s nothing repugnant about the concern and grief he’s shown while he’s been worrying for you. The poor thing’s driving himself mad trying to respect what you’d want. You know how Enjolras is. He’s all about action. When he feels a conviction about something, prudence grates at him. He’s been doing his best to give you space.” Jehan glanced down at the tote bag sitting on his lap. “And some of the manifestations of his concern are rather adorable.”

“What’s that?” Grantaire asked, looking befuddled and even a bit suspicious.

“He wanted me to give this to you.”

Grantaire opened the bag and snorted when he pulled out the pack of pencils. Jehan had assumed they’d be art pencils, but they were just a package of plain yellow number twos. The sketchpad was of similar poor quality, but the tea softened some of the bitterness right off of the cynic’s face. “Huh. I drink this stuff like crazy when I’m feeling sick. Oh hell…he knows my favorite chocolate bar too.”

“I think he bought his little care package on impulse. If he’d taken the time to go to the arts and crafts store, the pencils might have been nicer.”

“Really, number two’s aren’t bad. I can work with them,” Grantaire mumbled.

“He’s downstairs. Would you talk to him for just a few minutes? He really wants to see you, dear. And I think he deserves to have his side listened to.”

“I, uh…I dunno.” Grantaire hugged his arms. “I guess. Do you mind staying?”

“Not at all,” Jehan assured him. “In that case…would you mind if I invite Feuilly up as well? He’s the one who came over here to intercept Enjolras in case you weren’t ready, and we’ve been sitting outside in the snow for a bit already. He’s not dressed for this kind of weather.”

“Shit, Feuilly’s downstairs too?” Grantaire jumped to his feet and ran over to the crooked cabinet hanging above his sink. He took out a couple of mugs and filled them with tap water, then stuck them in his microwave. “Tell them both to get their asses up here before they freeze to death.”

Jehan smiled. “I’ll be back in a second.”

When Jehan returned with his friends in tow, Grantaire had three mugs of cocoa waiting for them on the little TV tray he used as a kitchen table. He hung Feuilly’s hoodie above his radiator, and insisted Feuilly wear his blanket while he waited for it to dry off.

“Sorry it’s just Swiss Miss and tap water. I haven’t been food shopping in awhile, so I don’t have any milk.”

“It’s warm,” Feuilly said, smiling appreciatively as he clasped the mug in his gloveless hands. Grantaire’s apartment wasn’t particularly well heated, so Enjolras and Jehan had kept on their winter wear.

Jehan stood next to Grantaire and clasped one of his hands. Grantaire’s eyes hadn’t left Enjolras for more than a few seconds since they’d walked into the apartment. He looked pained, but then, there also seemed to be quite a few other emotions warring for dominance in the artist’s wasted face.

Enjolras, on the other hand, seemed to be retreating behind a cool, polished façade as his emotional protection. He politely accepted his mug of cocoa, then stood off to the side. His lovely features were impossible to read.

“Courf said you’d been doing some sketching when you were crashing with him,” Feuilly said, in an only slightly awkward attempt to break the ice. “He said you even did some painting. Are you getting back into your artwork again?”

Jehan lit up. “Are you going to switch your major back?”

“I-uh, I’m not sure. I just felt like painting again so I did. Don’t…don’t read too much into it, guys.”

“I’d like to see your paintings, if you finish anyway,” Enjolras said quietly.

“Yeah, sure.” Grantaire took a few steps away from Jehan and leaned against the stand his microwave was on. “So, uh…how’ve you guys been?”

“Pretty much the same as always,” Feuilly answered, when it was clear neither of the others were going to jump in. “Combeferre’s been ditching everyone left and right for his new boy, Pontmercy’s been completely off the map thanks to his new girl, and Bahorel actually lost a fight this week.”

“Combeferre’s got a boyfriend?” Grantaire asked. “When did that happen?”

“I’m not exactly sure,” Enjolras answered. “When they met, Combeferre was still insisting he was straight. Then they started hanging out a lot, and then I started finding them cuddling, and so we all started referring to them as a couple and neither of them have questioned it.”

“I think it became official sometime towards the end of last week, but I’m not exactly sure,” Jehan added. “Anyway, Drew is an adorable nerd. I’m pretty sure you’d like him, R.”

Grantaire distantly nodded. His eyes briefly turned away from Enjolras to look down at his nervously twisting fingers, then he turned his gaze back to Enjolras with intent. He finally directly addressed him. “Thanks for the pencils and the tea and stuff, but I don’t want to date you. I don’t think I’m ever going to change my mind about that either, so you should probably just, uh…just work on getting over this whole mess. Maybe see if this Drew guy has a friend he can introduce you to. I mean, I’m not in love with you anymore, but I’m still highly aware of how spectacular you are. You’ll have no problems finding a boyfriend if you just put yourself out there a little. Um…yeah. So that’s…that’s that.”

Feuilly and Jehan both remained silent, staring back and forth between their friends. Enjolras, though obviously displeased, was still hard to read. He nodded a few times, then set his mug of tap water cocoa on the TV tray, still silent. He walked a few paces, then opened his mouth and tried to speak a few times, but nothing sensible came out.

“So I’m just gonna go,” Feuilly said, jumping to his feet. “You guys, uh…just call me if you need me. Enjolras, did you want to head out with me or are you…uh…”

Enjolras weakly shook his head, and Feuilly all but ran out of the room. Jehan considered following after him, but he wanted to be on hand if either of his friends needed him once they were finished. So he walked across the room and resumed his seat on the overturned record crate.

Jehan was only sitting a few feet away from them, but he was in the bedroom portion of the room rather than the kitchen, and the arrangement of furnishings gave them the illusion of privacy. Enjolras managed to find his voice.

“Grantaire, I’m not going to just look for someone else. When I mistakenly thought that you were happily dating Wes I tried that, and it didn’t work. I was just looking for you over and over again. You’re the one that I want to be with. You’re the _only_ one I’ve ever wanted to be with. If I’m patient, if I give you the space you need…is there any chance you’ll reconsider?”

“Enjolras, this is already really fucking hard.” Grantaire’s voice was incredibly small. He had to take a few breaths before he continued. “I loved you for so long, Enj. And, and you didn’t return it. You did your best to push me away and it worked. I tried to move on, and then you got jealous. Let’s face it, if I hadn’t started dating Wes then you would’ve been content to leave me languishing in your shadow wanting you forever.”

“Seeing you mistreated by Wes was what made me reevaluate my feelings for you. I didn’t act before because I wasn’t fully aware of them and their intensity.”

“No offense, Enj, but you shouldn’t have needed me getting a boyfriend to make you realize you liked me. Besides that, the relationship I’m coming off of sucked. I’m trying to get my head back together right now, and there’s a lot of shit I’m facing that I’m not fond of. I don’t need to get overpowered by a stronger partner again.” Grantaire raised his voice to speak over Enjolras’ objections. “No, listen to me on this. You’re not like Wes, okay? I get that. I mean, you guys have shit in common, but you’re different from him. However, you’re stronger than me. I don’t…I don’t need that right now. Right now I just wanna try to stand on my own feet for a little while and see how that goes.”

“That’s…more than fair. ‘Taire…do you think you’ll ever feel differently? Maybe a few months down the line?”

“Enjolras, it’s going to take more than a few months to undo the damage I’ve done to myself. I’m not talking about just getting over my breakup with Wes. I don’t like who I am, and that’s what allowed that sketchy fuck to get close to me and start controlling me. I was willing to do whatever it took to keep him because I thought I was lucky to have him. I need to…I need to start _liking_ myself. And I want to work on that on my terms, not yours.”

“Can I help? Can we still be friends?”

Jehan leaned forward, eager to hear whatever came next. So far he was pleased with the progress the conversation had made, glad to hear Grantaire finally showing some assertiveness in the face of Enjolras’ potentially overpowering personality. He wouldn’t have been displeased if they’d ended up dating, but at the moment, Grantaire’s reasoning was very sound and he understood why his friend was rejecting the man he’d professed to love so consumingly.

“I don’t know, Enj. Not right now, anyway. I don’t have it in me right now. I still want that space.”

And then Jehan’s heart broke a little bit for his friends. Grantaire sounded like it cost him a great deal to say that, and Enjolras’ answering gasp, though quiet, was equally heart wrenching.

“’Taire, please. I’m sorry about everything. I take full responsibility for my actions, and I promise to do better.”

“You should probably go home now, Enjolras. I think I’ve said everything I need to say.”

“Grantaire, please. Please, at least still be friends with me.”

“Enjolras.” Jehan walked over to them and placed a hand on his friend’s trembling shoulder. “We should get going, don’t you think?”

“I…” Enjolras swallowed and shook his head. “I don’t have any arguments. I’m usually so good at this. How can I have nothing to say? I need something to fix this. Jehan, how do I fix this?”

“I don’t think you’re going to fix it tonight, dearest. Come with me. I’ll see you home and we can talk, okay?”

Grantaire was standing with his back to them, facing a different patch of water stained wallpaper. Enjolras broke away from Jehan and approached him. He reached out like he was going to touch Grantaire’s shoulder, but then let his hand fall limply to his side.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I hurt you, and I love you, and when you’re feeling less infuriatingly stubborn, I’ll still be waiting for you.” Without waiting for an answer, which was wise considering he probably wasn’t going to get one, Enjolras turned and fled.

The door had barely closed behind him before Grantaire broke down. He slid down to the floor and hugged his knees to his chest. “Fuck, that was hard.”

“Think it over, love.” Jehan picked up the blanket from where Feuilly had left it on the one kitchen chair and carefully draped it around Grantaire’s shoulders. “I think Enjolras actually needs me more than you do tonight, so I’m going to go with him. Unless you’d like me to stay? I can stay with you, if you’d rather.”

“I’ll be okay,” Grantaire assured him. “I think I’m going to try to paint.”

“That sounds wonderful. Is it okay if I come by to check on you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, that’d be fine. I’ll see you tomorrow, Jehan.”

Jehan kissed the top of Grantaire's head, then left to comfort Enjolras.

 

%MCEPASTEBIN%

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not exactly sure where this one is going anymore. I like the idea of Grantaire growing assertive and independent, and not needing a relationship...but at the same time I feel bad for Enjolras. His behavior hasn't been perfect throughout the story, but I don't think he deserves to have his heart broken just so Grantaire can grow as a character. Thoughts?
> 
> And on a completely unrelated note, I'm experimenting with self-publishing. So far it's going rather well. If any of you are interested in checking out some non-fan fiction work from me, please consider buying my ebook, the Necromancer's Folly. You can find it on Amazon from my professional pen name, Valerie Myers. It's about pretty boys and werewolves and vampires and evil magicians. Everyone loves pretty boy werewolves and vampires and evil magicians, right? ;) Also, Valerie Myers has a Facebook page. If you feel like it, throw me a friend request. I'm fun, I promise!


	9. Chapter 9

In retrospect, Enjolras had no idea how he got through the spring semester without killing anyone.

After leaving Grantaire's apartment with Jehan, Enjolras spent an indulgent hour or so moping about his plight, but then he contented himself with his knowledge of Grantaire's habits and, sadly, his character flaws. The man lacked conviction. There was just no way he'd go through with his decision to end his friendship with Enjolras. They had too many friends in common, and besides that, while Enjolras wanted to be respectful of Grantaire's feelings, he wasn't going to just give up on their established friendship without a fight. His will was stronger than Grantaire's. Grantaire would wear down, he'd start coming to the Musain again, and over time Enjolras would have his friendship back.

And if it ever lead to anything more, well...that obviously wouldn't be a problem.

But dammit, sometime during Grantaire's recent crises he'd found a sense of resolve. Unless one of them was going to be ousted from their social circle they couldn't actually avoid each other, but Grantaire still managed to keep his distance. They only saw each other in passing. It was maddening. The man was right there, sometimes sitting as close as two chairs down the table from Enjolras, but he couldn't touch him, couldn't say anything that wasn't completely superficial to him...

Grantaire didn't answer any of his texts. Unless Enjolras approached him with one of their mutual friends, Grantaire wouldn't even acknowledge him.

"He asked for space," Combeferre reminded him, one evening when Enjolras had been bitterly complaining about Grantaire's aloofness.

"I know," Enjolras snapped.

Combeferre sighed. "Well, what did you think that meant?"

"I thought...I mean, would it really hurt him to _talk_ to me?"

"He seems to think so. Just give it more time." Combeferre started walking towards his bedroom, no doubt to get ready for another successful date with Drew, and in his current mood, that annoyed Enjolras too. Seeing Combeferre's new relationship flourish irritated him, which made him feel petty, which then made him feel guilty and weak.

Enjolras flopped over the back of the couch and hugged a pillow to his chest. "It's been over a month."

Combeferre clearly heard him, because Enjolras caught an annoyed sigh from the general direction of his room. "You know, Enjolras," he called from down the hall, "Maybe you could find something instructive in this role reversal."

"And just what is that supposed to mean?" Enjolras demanded. "What role reversal?"

Combeferre was buttoning up a new shirt when he walked into the room, still wearing the ripped up cargo pants he'd worn to class that morning. The half-formal outfit would have made Enjolras smirk, if he weren't so determined to sulk. "A few months ago, Grantaire was the one who would have killed for just the smallest sign of regard from you. He was going out of his mind trying to attract the barest bit of kindness, and then eventually just some shred of your notice, and you kept yourself cold and guarded even though you could see what it was doing to him. Enjolras, you know you're like a brother to me. I love and respect you. But...there's something tragically satisfying about seeing the tables turned."

Enjolras glared at him. He was suddenly reminded of all of Combeferre's former cautions to him to take a closer look at his feelings, to rethink the way he was treating Grantaire, to try to be nicer to him...

"Do you ever get sick of being right about everything? Jerk."

Combeferre shook his head and then went back into his room to finish getting ready.

* * *

The semester lurched to its awkward end, bringing with it the graduation of a few members of their circle. Combeferre and Jehan were both walking. Bahorel and Bossuet were supposed to, but they'd managed to defer graduation and thus full adulthood for another semester by willfully misunderstanding their school's Core Requirements. Enjolras would have been graduating with Combeferre and Jehan, but he'd juggled with his majors and minors too much and still had a few more requirements to polish off. He'd finish up during the fall semester and walk the next spring.

To his surprise, and everyone else's, Grantaire informed everyone that he was graduating as well, he just didn't see the need to participate in the commencement exercises. "My folks certainly aren't going to show up to see me get an art degree, so I might as well keep my weekend."

"You switched your major back?" Enjolras asked. He seemed to be the only one unaware of that substantial life decision, which was sadly normal lately. Enjolras was always out of the loop on what was going on with Grantaire.

"Are they at least throwing you a party?" Jehan asked. "I mean, not to sound too mercenary about this, but I'm expecting the gifts from my extended family to help me cover my first few student loan repayments."

"Me too," Combeferre added. "I don't think it's mercenary so much as a sad reality of our generation. It's going to take us some time before we find substantial employment, and the graduation gifts are something to live on while we're job hunting. The loans are most likely going to go into repayment before we've got steady employment."

"I'm not getting a party," Grantaire informed them. "My dad told me to fuck off when I decided to pursue art instead of accounting, so I'm not getting any help from my parents. I'm gonna sell most of my shit, pack up a bag, and couch hop during the grace period."

"Dude...you can use my couch again," Courfeyrac started, but Grantaire cut him off.

"It's okay, guys. I've got a plan."

"Oh good, he's got a plan," Feuilly whispered sarcastically. "This isn't that stupid delusion you were talking about last month with that guy Montparnasse, was it?"

"It's not a delusion, it's a _plan_. Montparnasse and Eponine have a lot of buddies and connections. I'm going to travel around with them, work some house parties, and build up a portfolio. Then when I get back to this area, I should have enough experience to get an apprenticeship. If things go really well, I might even avoid having my loans go into forbearance."

Enjolras blinked a few times. "Portfolio? Apprenticeship? What the hell are you even talking about?"

"Grantaire's trying to become a tattoo artist," Combeferre explained. "He made some friends while he was dating Wes that have promised to help him. Stop, I know, I thought that too." Combeferre lowered his voice, while Grantaire continued on to their other friends about his surprisingly fleshed out plans for the future. "We were all concerned at first too, but Parnasse and Eponine aren't so bad. They sided with Grantaire after the breakup and ousted Wes from their clique. He ran out of favors to call in and things to sell in February and moved to New York."

Enjolras scowled at his friend. "You didn't think it worth mentioning that Wes moved to a new city? I've been worried this whole time about him going after Grantaire again."

Combeferre shrugged. "I thought you knew." He tuned back in to the general discussion, which had turned to their friends offering Grantaire various parts of their bodies as canvasses to build his portfolio.

Jehan let out a quiet sigh. "I'll let you tattoo every inch of my body if it will keep you from going on this road trip. I don't do well with separations, R. I'm going to miss you."

"Me too," Enjolras said, though he was once again ignored.

"R, can't you get enough of a portfolio inking us?" Bahorel asked.

"It's about more than the portfolio, guys. I'm also going to check out other tattoo parlors, look at other artists, go to some conventions and shows...I mean, art school was great. I learned a fuck-ton, but not all of it is relevant for this kind of work. Tattoos are their own different aesthetic, and it's an aesthetic my professors taught me jack shit about. I think my line work is already really good, but I have a lot to learn about color work on a limited palette. Not to mention working a living canvas. Getting my designs to work on the contours of the human body isn't going to happen overnight. I need to study. I-I need to do this."

Whereas it was nice to hear Grantaire talk about the future like that, with aspirations and hope and even a decent amount of thoughtful planning, the thought of him leaving before they'd resolved anything made Enjolras' heart sink. He'd thought Grantaire was going to be at school for at least another year.

Enjolras remained at the Musain for another twenty minutes or so, not taking much in as he sank into a dejected funk. He finally excused himself and all but fled the cafe.

* * *

Grantaire noticed when Enjolras beat his hasty retreat from the Musain, but he didn't give it much thought. He was pretty good at keeping his thoughts from Enjolras these days, though it had taken him a lot of practice to get to that point. Mostly, he was thinking about the upcoming weekend. Even though he wasn't walking in the graduation himself, with two of his closest friends graduating he was still planning on going. He was going to sit in the stands with Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta, and then afterwards the four of them were taking Jehan out for celebratory pancakes before handing him off to his family. They'd wanted to steal Combeferre too, of course, but his family was taking him right after graduation, and besides, Enjolras was going to be there.

Enjolras, who'd looked sick to his stomach when he'd left. Grantaire hadn't been aware the marble statue's skin could even turn that shade of sickly pale.

Once the gathering at the Musain broke up, Grantaire went back to his apartment around the corner. Talking about his plans for the future had gotten some of his creative juices flowing, and he found himself with a bunch of ideas for sketches buzzing in his brain. He was supposed to be inking Montparnasse sometime after graduation weekend, but the fussy idiot had asked for something ridiculously ornate that just wasn't going to fit on his dainty little wrist. Grantaire needed to rework the design and simplify it significantly, but still have it showy enough for his fashion-plate friend's tastes. As soon as he got into his apartment Grantaire did the locks (which was so much of a habit he didn't even realize he was doing it half the time), chucked off his shoes and his hoodie, and flopped onto his mattress where his sketchpad was waiting for him.

He barely got in five minutes of blissful line work before his phone lit up with texts. Grantaire tried to ignore them, but they kept coming. When he reached to shut his phone off he noticed that it was Courfeyrac, and that the last one said he was right outside the door.

"That's a little creepy," Grantaire said, since he knew anything said in his room was perfectly audible from the landing.

"It's very creepy. You should help me feel like less of a creeper by letting me in."

Reluctantly, Grantaire tossed his sketchpad aside and let Courfeyrac in. He did the locks back up without saying hello, and determinedly sat down on his mattress and returned to his art. But with Courfeyrac noisily removing his shoes and jacket, all Grantaire's focus was broken. "What are you doing here?"

"We need to talk, dude." Courfeyrac pulled the kitchen chair up to the mattress and straddled it, resting his arms on the back and tapping his fingers annoyingly on the thing to boot.

"What about?" Grantaire asked. He kept his eyes trained on his work in progress, even though he couldn't for the life of him figure out how to get the design to taper away the way he wanted to anymore. Shit, if Courfeyrac had been ten minutes later he'd probably have been done.

"Enjolras."

Grantaire flipped to another page in his book and started scribbling at random, just to have something to do other than acknowledge Courfeyrac. He didn't talk about Enjolras. No one talked about Enjolras in his apartment. He had a hard enough time facing group outings when Enjolras was there; his apartment was supposed to be a sort of sanctuary to keep him from having to deal with that kind of stress when he was on his own.

"Grantaire, come on...look at me. You've spent the entire semester running away from this, and you're about to run away to the other side of the country. I think we've all been pretty good about respecting your wishes here, but I've gotta throw a few words in on Enjolras' behalf-"

"Fuck him." Grantaire tossed his sketchpad aside and ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "He's fine. He's got this, and even if he didn't, it's not my fucking responsibility. I have my hands plenty fucking full of my own issues without worrying about him."

"Look, I get that. You know, his issues aren't yours and you made yourself clear with wanting the space and all that jazz...that's fine." Courfeyrac took a deep breath. "But I'm really worried about him, man. The whole time you've been getting better and stronger he's been falling apart. He's not the same kid he was anymore, which you haven't seen because you're ignoring him. Just, before you pack up and go, could you talk to him for like fifteen minutes? I ask this fully acknowledging that you don't owe him anything, and hell, he might not even want you to. I freely admit to my meddling here. But he's one of my best friends, R, and he needs some closure out of this."

"I told him I was never going to date him. Closure doesn't get any more firm than that, does it?"

"It's Enjolras, R. He'll always hope." Courfeyrac seemed to get that he'd overstepped what even his strong years of friendship allowed him to get away with regarding Grantaire's inner workings. He changed the subject by asking Grantaire about his sketches and getting him pumped for his future as an apprentice.

He knew full well Grantaire would stew over everything he'd said on his own time, the jerk.

* * *

Graduation weekend passed in an excited blur of activity. The ceremony itself was tedious and full of sun exposure, but the after parties were infinitely better. It was a nice little last hurrah for the Amis, who couldn't escape the fact that with so many of their number growing up and pursuing self-sufficiency, things just weren't going to be the same after this.

The last gathering of the weekend was an impromptu slumber party at Enjolras and Combeferre's apartment. The closest of the friends all decided to crash there after a fancy dinner Combeferre's family had hosted. Jehan was last to arrive, having been out with his own family. He looked a little nervous and pale when he closed the door behind him.

"You okay?" Bahorel asked (and you were definitely in rough shape if even Bahorel noticed something was off without being clued in).

"Yes, I think...I just had to endure a round of questioning from my maternal aunts over the job prospects of a poet. There's something romantic about being a starving artist, of course, but if I wind up literally starving I...I...oh dear, there it goes again." He closed his eyes and tried to force himself to take some deep, measured breaths.

Courfeyrac pulled him aside. No one was ever quite sure what he said, but when Jehan returned to the living room he wasn't quite as pale and his smile looked perfectly natural.

Still, just for good measure, when Grantaire got a chance he snuck in a private word with the nervous poet as well.

"You know, dude...none of us would ever let you literally starve."

Jehan fixed him with that warm, weepy smile of his and nodded. "I know, R. Courfeyrac made that perfectly clear. I'd still rather not be a burden on anyone I loved, even if the burden was the result of something as glorious as pursuing my dreams."

"Yeah, I feel you on that." Grantaire cast a dubious look at the sketchpad he was still clutching and shrugged. "Well, if my imaginary tattoo studio ever takes off, you're perfectly welcome to work the desk and design pretty fonts for script tattoos."

"Oh, that actually sounds kind of fun. Can I design scripts for you even if poetry somehow manages to work?"

"Fuck yeah. We can make it a combination tattoo studio...I dunno, writer's salon? You can write brilliant poems and I'll ink 'em onto people. It'll be great."

Jehan grabbed his hand. "You'll definitely have to come home to make that work. Promise me, R? If nothing else, you're definitely coming back?"

"Jehan..." Grantaire frowned at his friend, uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had taken. "Of course I'm coming back." He followed his reassurance with a tender squeeze to Jehan's slender hand.

"Friends drift apart. Especially after big life changes, like graduating and making careers for themselves. I get that you're heading out to explore and learn your craft, and that's great, truly it is...but I'm selfish. Please come home when you're done."

"I promise, Jehan. I'm definitely coming back." And then Grantaire hugged him, even though he never hugged his friends when he was sober. He usually needed inebriation to loosen himself up for that kind of stuff.

"Thank you," Jehan whispered. He returned the hug with a  tight squeeze, then pulled away, let out a little sniffle, and returned to the more general party. He and Grantaire had wandered over towards the kitchen hallway for their chat, and he left the artist feeling a bit baffled.

He knew he pulled away from his friends often enough to retreat into isolation, but how could any of them think he'd really trade them in for Montparnasse, Eponine, and an insecure future on the open road? His friends were like a family to him. In fact, they were all the more dear for _not_ being his family. He could never desert them.

'Not true,' a malicious voice in his head whispered sourly. 'You completely turned your back on one of them.' Completely against his will, his eyes sought Enjolras out. The beautiful blond was sitting by himself nursing a soda, watching the antics of the party more than actively participating. He couldn't help but think of Courfeyrac's concerns, still fresh in his mind from the other night. Enjolras was still radiant, of course, but he looked more drawn, angelic features slightly dimmed from worries and cares he hadn't carried before. Rather than looking ready to take on the world and all its injustices, the poor guy looked in need of a good long nap followed by some cuddles.

By chance, Enjolras happened to look up while Grantaire was still studying him. Their eyes met, and Grantaire noticed all the damn, idiotic hope Courfeyrac had ascribed to Enjolras. Grantaire frowned and looked away, but the damage was done. He heard Enjolras get off the couch and cross the room, and a moment later they were standing alone together in the kitchen.

"I...I don't know why I came in here," Enjolras murmured. "I don't even know what to say to you anymore."

"Yeah...that's about where I'm at."

Grantaire leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. He kept his head down, avoiding Enjolras' gaze. Enjolras' eyes were so mesmerizing, despite the fact that that kind of intense focus was unsettling to most people. Grantaire was going to get sucked right in if he looked Enjolras in the eye, and then all the work he'd been doing for the past few months would become meaningless. He'd lose all that backbone he'd earned by planting himself firmly under Enjolras' heel once more, ready to be scorned just to be noticed. He didn't want to be that kid anymore.

The silence stretched on, to the point where Grantaire started hoping that one of their other friends would walk into the room and force an end to it. Enjolras had clearly meant what he'd said, because even though he cleared his throat a couple of times, words didn't follow. Grantaire sighed, and helped him along. "Courfeyrac said I should talk to you before I left. He thought you'd need some kind of closure. Although I have no idea what the frick he's talking about. I think I've made myself pretty clear."

"You have, yeah." Enjolras' voice sounded heavy, like he was choked up. Grantaire chanced a look, but then immediately glanced back down because seeing Enjolras' face contorted like that, like he was suffering...he was going to do something stupid if he kept looking at him.

"So what do you need me to tell you?" Grantaire asked.

"I don't know," Enjolras whispered. "Considering what you've said so far, I'm fairly well convinced there's nothing you could possibly say to make this hurt any less. I would say that I'm going to miss you, but I've already missed you for the past six months even while we've been living in the same city and hanging out with the same people and standing in the same suffocatingly small rooms, so you taking a road trip isn't really going to change that. It might be easier, even. I won't get to see how badly I ruined things. I'll probably even get a chance to forget about you for short periods of time."

"Six months?" Grantaire repeated, feeling slightly dazed. It couldn't have been that long.

Enjolras let out a derisive snort. "It's May. The party where you must have overheard me talking to Combeferre about you was at Courfeyrac's at the beginning of November, and then you started dating Wes the next week. It's been six months since we've felt like friends, and it's been horrible. I miss you so much, Grantaire. I wish I hadn't, that we...fuck."

Grantaire looked up again, and felt his stomach drop when he saw Enjolras wiping at his eyes. He was clearly trying not to cry, and his voice had given out. He was pale, and shaky, and Grantaire realized with a rush of accompanying guilt that as small and insignificant as Enjolras had ever made him feel in the time since they'd known each other, he'd been doing much the same to Enjolras. But that shouldn't have been possible. Enjolras was strength itself...wasn't he?

"I didn't mean to hurt you either." Grantaire spoke without thinking, utterly shocked at Enjolras' uncharacteristic display of emotion. "I...I didn't think you cared that much."

"I told you my feelings as plainly as I could."

"Well, yeah, I guess, but...I don't know. Look, I'm sorry this all turned to shit. I'm sorry that I had to cut you off so I could get better, but I was into you in a way that was not healthy. I had to step back for a little while and figure my shit out. I did though, and I'm pretty happy with the way things are going. I...I have a plan. Like, goals, and hope for the future. I didn't before. All I saw was you, and that you didn't love me and that I wouldn't deserve it even if you did. There are so many things wrong with that, Enj. If we'd tried dating...I mean, it wouldn't have been as bad as me and Wes, but it wouldn't have been good."

"No, it wouldn't have," Enjolras agreed. He let out a small sigh. "That was a lot of the reason I was trying to talk myself out of my feelings for you. I wounded you so much when we were only friends. I hated doing it, you know. Every time I crossed a line and really got to you, I could see it in your eyes and then I spent the rest of the night just kicking myself, but I was still too proud to apologize. I'm sorry, Grantaire. I'm such an ass."

"Hey, quit it. You sound like me." Grantaire smirked, and slowly, Enjolras returned it with a fragile, weak little smile of his own. "Look, I'm stronger now, and I'm coming back. I mean, I don't know exactly how long this road trip is going to be. Ep and Parnasse were pretty sketchy on the details, but I do have some savings. If they want to keep to the road longer than me, I can always buy a plane ticket and come home. We can pick this conversation up again then, if you want. I mean, unless you meet some good looking guy who woos you with ridiculously impractical radical ideology-" Grantaire was cut off by Enjolras darting forward and essentially clinging to him.

"No, it's just you. Dammit, don't you think other people have _tried_ seducing me before? You're the only person I want to be with, 'Taire. It's just you and it's only ever been you."

With shaking hands, like he was about to defile some magnificent piece of artwork, Grantaire hesitantly stroked Enjolras' glorious golden hair. He lowered his hands and rested them firmly on Enjolras' back. When he inhaled, he could smell Enjolras' shampoo.

"I'm coming back, and when I get home we can talk again." He was pretty sure that after a few more months working on himself, Enjolras wouldn't have the power to destroy him anymore. At least, he hoped a few months would be enough.

"I still don't want you to leave."

Suddenly, Grantaire didn't want to go. He closed his eyes, and for a few seconds just appreciated the feel of Enjolras in his arms. The man was more intoxicating than any of the myriad substances Grantaire had attempted to dull his pain with during his short, miserable life. God, but he could drug himself with this, only this, for the rest of his life...

And that scared him. No, he'd been standing on his own feet since January, and he'd been doing a damn good job at it too. Self-respect was a new feeling for Grantaire, but he liked it.

He wasn't ready for something this intense just yet.

Grantaire dropped a kiss on the top of Enjolras' head and then let go of him. "I'll look you up when I'm back in town."

He left the party after that. His resolve had always been weak, and it wouldn't take much to make it crumble away entirely. Although the look on Enjolras' face when he turned and walked away was a pretty good test.

Grantaire spent the next few days finalizing his arrangements with Montparnasse and Eponine and saying goodbye to his other friends. He wanted to go out to dinner with his parents at least once before he left too, but they blew him off. His sister sent him fifty bucks as a graduation present though, which was something.

By the time Montparnasse's car hit the highway, Grantaire still couldn't quite believe they were really doing it. In fact, they were two states away before he'd really settled into the notion that he'd left. The next year or so was uncertain at best, but he'd be defining his future on his own terms and by his own standards.

"You've been quiet for awhile, R. Is our music pissing you off?" Eponine asked.

"Huh?" Grantaire gave his head a little shake, and then scrunched his face up when he processed the poppy shit his friends had put on. "Uh, it wasn't, but what the fuck is this?"

"Mika, and I don't want your fucking opinion on it either," Montparnasse snapped. "Driver gets to pick this music."

"That's convenient, considering you're the only one with a license," Eponine returned. "Grantaire, sweetie, are you really okay?"

Grantaire grinned. "Actually, Ponine, I very much am."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's just going to be one little epilogue after this. Thanks for reading, guys! Let me know what you think :)


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